Worlds Apart
by JanetAndrews
Summary: Joseph and Clarisse are suddenly worlds apart from each other. Are they strong enough to fight? Or strong enough to let go? Slightly AU with introduction of two new characters. Now COMPLETE - updated with two chapters!
1. Chapter 1

_This story is written by two friends who met through their shared admiration for Dame Julie Andrews. Our names are Janet (from the Netherlands) and Martina (from Sweden). This is our second work together and we have a lot of fun doing it. We hope you'll enjoy it too!_

_The story is set after the first Princess Diaries movie. _

**Chapter One.**

His hand was drifting, roaming dangerously close to the edge of the silky fabric, and tracing her neckline. Teasing, soft fingers inched underneath the garment, sliding lower still and she sighed deeply, arching towards the touch.

She knew she should stop him, but her mouth was dry as sandpaper, her body pressing back against his on its own accord.

"They are waiting for me."It should have made him pull back but she heard herself how she sounded, breathless and intoxicated by his scent, by his touch. He took no notice, breathing softly in her ear as he brought his mouth down to her bare shoulder, humming appreciatively at the very inviting cut of her dress. His stubble grazed her skin and she shivered.

"I really have to.." She paused mid-sentence and bit her lip, her eyes drifting shut as his hand inched lower. It was with great effort she snapped her eyes open and straightened up, away from him. "…go."

"Then go."

His voice wasn't angry, not even a trace of disappointment in his voice but in an instant his hands were no longer on her body, his warm presence behind her gone. She whirled around in confusion, searching for his face but instead her eyes landed on the door at the far end of the room.

She could hear voices drifting towards her from the other side and she instantly knew they were waiting for her, and that she had no other choice than to go.

She didn't even look back, her feet moving of their own accord, a seemingly invisible force drawing her towards the dark, wooden door.

She reached a hand out, hearing the unmistakable clicking of the handle pressing down echoing in the candle lit room.

As the door swung open and she stepped out, she was overwhelmed by the compact mass of people standing before her, her senses unable to take in the bright light blinding her eyes and the loud noise in her ears.

Her first instinct was to turn around and head back into the room but the very second the thought crossed her mind she heard the door close behind her, loud and definite.

Cameras were flashing in her eyes everywhere she turned, her name flying through the air and creating a loud, almost echoing cacophony.

"_Your Majesty, look this way!" _

"_Your Majesty, a little closer!"_

"Your Majesty…….!"

"Your Majesty…….?"

"Your Majesty? We have landed."

Slowly a voice was creeping into her consciousness, low but insisting. It pulled and tore at her, forcing her to focus and slowly she began to take in her surroundings; the low humming of an airplane engine shutting down, the bright afternoon sun shining in through the small window and striking her in her eyes.

"We've landed, Your Majesty. We've just pulled up to the gate."

"Oh, I'm sorry," her voice was drowsy and her mind still slightly disoriented as she sat up straight, making a small grimace as her back complained at the strange angle she had been slumped in. "Could you give me a moment?"

"Certainly, Your Majesty."

Clarisse watched the young man walk away, for a moment just sitting and contemplating where she was, trying to shake herself from her strange and unnervingly vivid and disturbing dream. Although she had just slept for what must have been hours she felt drained, like she had just been running a marathon; sticky and bone tired.

The thought that she might look as bad as she felt made a wrinkle form on her forehead, her hand reaching for her purse and powder box. She swiftly went through her touch up routine, noticing the young guard that had awoken her already walking down the aisle towards her. A moment alone indeed…not even a second longer than that.

"This way Your Majesty, if you please."

An elaborate wave with the hand and an eager smile directed her towards the now abandoned exit at the front of the plane and she bowed her head down, hiding the flicker of amusement that crossed her face at the very obvious direction. She was holding up the waiting court of guards and aircrew, she was sure, and now they were anxious to get her to where she was going so they could go on with their business for the day. Not that anybody would be as discourteous as to tell her to get a move on, she could see the guards circling the front exit and the stewardess hovering around behind the curtains. She couldn't help but wonder if the quite good looking, dark eyed guard would have been as charming and tactful if she had been the lady before him in line for the bus, instead of a visiting head of state.

With a polite smile in the young man's direction she rose to her feet and smoothed the fabric of her well-pressed pants, unconsciously making sure that the soft, cream-colored fabric showed no trace of wrinkles.

"Thank you."

Her heels clicked against the metallic floor of the tunnel as she made her way away from the plane and into the airport, a small army of suit clad and expressionless men swarming around her like mosquitoes around a lone lantern. The security arrangements were even more excessive than she had expected and she felt the slightest flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

This kind of watching over her always reminded her of the cruel reality that there actually might be something to watch out for. There was a time when that thought never even would have crossed her mind. Breathing deeply she turned her head slightly to catch the eye of her dashing young guard, instantly feeling calmer at the sight of a familiar face in this hoard of people assigned to ensure her safety. Every day she put her well-being in the hands of people with whom she never spoke. More and more she found herself wishing there would be at least one man among them who, besides daring to take a bullet for her, dared to offer her a piece of gum when they passed the pack around.

They were nearing the entrance to the airport and she straightened her back, holding her head a fraction of an inch higher as she put just a little more stride in her steps, one hand coming up to swiftly comb through her blond strands.

She knew there were reporters waiting for her only a few feet away, standing behind the gates and stomping like an impatient herd of cattle with anxiety to get the best shot of her as she arrived, write the best description of her appearance and then make up the most imaginative assumptions and gossip to go with it.

Nothing sells as good asi 'the queen arriving looking horrible after being bedridden with the Ebola virus for six weeks' or 'the queen arriving blushing and flustered after a royal encounter in midair with unknown man'/i.

She wasn't even sure which one she would prefer people buying into and the prospect of what she might read in tomorrow's newspaper still had the power to unnerve her like nothing else. She fought the her uneasiness with the only weapon she had; doing everything she could to look and appear flawless.

She wasn't vain about her appearance, far from it. Her mother had shaken her head in worry about her big feet and the way her nose tilted up just a tad too much, distorting an otherwise perfect profile, enough times for her to know where her flaws lied. But over the years she had learned something that was more important than all that; the power of illusion.

As she stepped into the a little too brightly lit arrival hall in her cream white pants suit, a soft pink scarf placed around her neck in a way that came off as the perfect mix of just being thrown on and being specifically designed for the occasion, she knew what people would see.

The high heeled sling backs, sparkling and dazzling enough to excuse their lack of practicality made her even taller than she was and made her unconsciously straighten her back and mind her carriage, even after sitting down for seven hours on a plane.

Her makeup was never extensive but she had applied an extra layer of powder, giving her skin a freshness and glow that without trouble concealed any nausea she had felt during the flight. Her last lifesaver was the designer sunglasses safely perched on her nose. Their light, peach colored glass were bright and see-through enough not to seem like she was hiding a black eye underneath, but distracting enough to mask her tired eyes.

What they would see was a well-rested and smiling queen, fashionably dressed and perfectly composed. She was open, friendly and warm, and yet utterly unreachable. It was an illusion that had been carefully constructed and practiced to perfection, and it was safer than any armor could ever be. It protected her in a way that the swarm of security guards around her never could.

Over the sound of her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor she could hear the increasing sound of voices, moving toward her as a great wave and washing over her as she reached the terminal. For second it gave her a strange feeling of déjà vu, images from her dream flashing before her eyes. It was a compact mass of people greeting her, lining all the exits and creating a traffic jam of sorts. Stressed and unimpressed business men and jet setters tried to move past the seemingly unmovable crowd. She was an airport efficiency nightmare, she was sure.

In a city as big as New York one would think that there were a lot bigger fish in the pond than her, but the cameras clicking insistently and the people waving at her put up a good argument. She could have requested that the airport set up the private arrival lounge that was typically at her disposal for just such an occasion. It would have saved her from having to move through any public area whatsoever, but she had declined it. She was in Genovia's service, her people's service. It was her job to represent them, to be seen. How could she do that if she became a Greta Garbo of royals, constantly fighting to hide away from the people that raised her to such heights? It was her duty to meet the people that wanted to see her just as if there was nothing in the world she would rather do.

Knowing the routine by heart, she lifted her hand and waved gracefully as she started to move along the path that the men around her created, for just an instant focusing on the cameras clicking everywhere as she passed them, giving each a brief smile before she moved on. Well accustomed to the noise around her, she ignored the sound of photographers calling her back, requesting a few more shots and moved along swiftly with her goal well in mind. They were nearing the exit, and as the crowd thinned out slightly, she searched for the one person she knew she would find waiting for her there.

She could have met up with him at her hotel of course, but he had insisted he come pick her up, and she had willingly obliged. She smiled to herself, recalling how back in the days, he could always make her laugh until she cried; how he was able to turn the world inside out with the ideas he put into her head. She told herself that the official reason for this trip was charity and good will but, at the heart of it, she knew better. It all came down to the opportunity to relive some dearly missed and treasured days of happiness with a man whose special friendship she held dear. Chatting with him on the phone periodically over the years just wasn't enough. She was truly looking forward to seeing him again.

She could see the discreet sign directing her towards the VIP exit now and still he was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes scanned the crowd that had migrated after her, hoping to catch one last glimpse.

"If he forgot the time I swear to God I will…" she murmured to herself but cut herself off as her eyes finally landed on the person she had been seeking, her polite smile widening as she took in the familiar form before her. The hair was a little grayer and the lines a tad deeper since last she laid eyes on him but the all business 'I am thrilled to see you but it is not very manly to jump up and down about it' smile was familiar and so was the twinkle in his eyes as she came close enough to greet him.

"If you wanted a big welcome wagon you could just have told me you know, I would have put up an add," he chuckled, nodding towards the very annoyed and non patient airport employees that were trying to convince people to leave and stop obstructing the arrival hall.

People had warned him that creating attention for a new theater opening on broadway these days were harder than getting a street named after you. None of those people had ever been blessed by the support of Clarisse Renaldi. A woman who just happened to hold the world in her hand with no greater effort than a smile.

"Jack," she admonished him with a ripple of laughter in her voice as he was let past her guards and walked up to her, giving her a light kiss on her left cheek. "With the money you have invested in this project, the least you could have done is close down Kennedy for me."

"My dear they wouldn't have done that even for Elvis," Jack pointed out good naturedly, silently amazed by the way the people lining her path beamed back at them as Clarisse turned her head and gave them one last look. He had been told by airport security that people had started to gather well over two hours ago and yet they were content with this fast glimpse of the queen, seemingly ecstatic to have been standing in the same room as her if just for a few moments. "But if we get a big a turn out as this at the opening you may very well be worth the money."

"Jack…" Clarisse raised a brow at him as she walked through the glass door that was held up for her and stepped out into the bright and sunny New York afternoon "You are not paying me one cent."

---------

The briefing room of the New York Police Department was always crowded at this time of the morning. There was the constant sound of doors being opened and closed, shifting of chairs, phones ringing, the rattle of keys being thrown on desks and loud conversations of people who hadn't seen each other over the past weekend. But the most common sound of all was the non-stop buzzing sound of an old coffee machine, filling endless cups of strong coffee.

At the far end of this room, a man was sitting at a cluttered desk and he didn't seem to participate in the activity that surrounded him. He was writing something on a notepad that seemed to be filled with loose statements, reminders of chores to do and little drawings that weren't easy to solve. He was about 6 ft tall and wasn't wearing a police uniform like most people in the building. In stead he was wearing a black suit with a light blue shirt underneath, a dark blue necktie tied correctly around his neck and black shiny shoes completed the pretty picture. His face was serious and concentrated and he didn't seem to hear the young, blond woman approaching him. But he spoke to her before she could even try to drag his attention.

"Is that coffee in your hand or is this another subtle attempt to poison me?"

The woman smiled, she should have known that he had seen her coming; he was one of the most alert people she knew. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have a few days off?" she asked, tilting her head to see what he was writing down.

He looked up and removed his reading glasses that revealed his sharp, blue eyes and he accepted the coffee with a brief smile. "Yes well, I can't seem to leave you, Erin."

She grinned, her blond hair falling loosely over her forehead. She reached into her pocket to take a few hairpins out, sticking them between her teeth. "Words, words, words…" she murmured, putting her hair up in a seasoned act.

He chuckled as he watched her expression. "You do know I was originally hired as an advisor, don't you?" he asked, picking up his cup of coffee. He shook his head and took a first careful sip, cringing at the taste. "Why I let myself get sucked back into the game is beyond me anyway."

Erin smiled and sat herself down on the edge of his desk. "Because you can deny it all you want Joe, you're still a cop," she said softly. "And a damned good one if I might add. You're not one to sit behind a desk all day anyway."

He grinned. "There are people who would disagree with you."

"And they would shut up if they ever saw you into action," she replied and reached out to brush a piece of lint off his shoulder. "Why are you dressed as if you have to attend a funeral? That suit can't be comfortable."

He smirked. "I have an appointment later today."

Her blue eyes narrowed and a curious look appeared on her face. "An appointment…..or a date?"

He was about to reply when the loud voice of Commander Eric Wilson sounded through the room, announcing that day's briefing.

"Never mind," Erin said and winked at him as she got up from his desk, "I'll ask the other ladies, I'm sure someone here will know!"

Joseph watched her move away from him, her movements steady and secure. She was a lot younger than he was although he wasn't quite sure of her age and somehow he never asked her. He estimated her close to her forties but he could still beat her when they jogged, a newfound hobby they had recently taken up together. Erin had always been there, ever since he joined the force. They had developed what he would describe as a case of mutual understanding, although someone else would simply state it as friendship. Moving to New York City hadn't been an easy decision but, he had to admit, finding this job had eased the transition a bit. In a way it felt like coming home to something he had been doing for the better part of his life. But even so, it was a strange realization that one could go back to a job and find out not that the job had changed, but the man doing it had changed. It wasn't his age, his physical condition or his expertise but something else that made it hard for him to fit in here. He couldn't put his finger on what it was though but now wasn't the time to ponder it. It was time for the briefing and he overheard the first announcement of the day.

"To all officers: please do not book vomit into evidence, as it is extremely unpleasant for the evidence techs. Photograph the vomit, book the photo into evidence, and dispose of the vomit appropriately."

Cop humour, lovely.

Half an hour later he was the one to sit on top of a desk, listening to the final instructions handed out to each and every police officer in the room. People were being assigned to specific cars and tasks and now they were waiting for the last details. Usually there was no real need for him to be there but his uncontrollable curiosity in the whereabouts of his colleagues always pulled him in. For over a year he had succeeded in doing just what was expected of him, giving advice about security issues, promoting the use of security cameras in public places, giving workshops concerning high stress situations to police officers in training and so much more. He enjoyed the ease in which he could rely on his knowledge but bit-by-bit he noticed that even he could get a little rusty with just working from an office. So to keep sharp and alert, he had offered his assistance to the force and, as it turned out, it was a perfect combination of both worlds. So on a day like this day, when work pressure was higher than usual and the force needed all the help available, he went back to his old job and yes, he relished every second of it.

Around him rumour got louder and he picked up his pencil to write down his assignment for that day when the dark voice of Commander filled the room.

"Tonight, increased patrol is required on 42nd and Broadway for the grand opening of the Grand Majestic Theatre…"

Joseph pressed his lips together as he wrote down the instructions.

"…Since the Queen of Genovia and her party will attend the premiere."

With a snapping sound, his pencil broke.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Genovia, two years prior**_

"I told you that I don't understand it." Charlotte spoke softly but he heard the accusing undertone in her voice.

"And I told you I don't wish to discuss it," he responded and slowly he placed the box he was carrying down on his desk, careful not to break its contents.

"You have a new job, just like that," she stated more than she asked and he looked up, finding her slightly angry gaze resting on him.

"I have my reasons Charlotte," he said softly, his hands now folding a t-shirt that had been hanging in the closet.

"You've been here as long as I can remember," she said just as softly, taking a step closer in his direction. He diverted his face from her stare and he turned to continue his chores, his movements less controlled and patient.

"Joe…?"

"Maybe a little too long." The tone in his voice was sharp, blunt, and he turned around to empty out the shelf that was hanging on his wall, filled with items he rather not wanted to be reminded of. There were certifications that told an outsider that they were dealing with one of the most qualified security experts in the world. On the left side of the shelf was a silver cup, something he won at a shooting contest here on the Palace Grounds. He picked it up without even looking at it twice and placed it in the box on his desk. The miniature antique cars that were standing in a neat, straight line ended up in a pile on top of it.

"It just won't be the same without you here," Charlotte clearly attempted one more time to soften him but it only spurred him on to finish clearing out the shelf faster. His movements got hasty now, annoyed.

"I need a little time to deal with…things," he finally said softly and returned to his desk again, sitting down on a chair as he opened the bottom drawer.

Charlotte sighed deeply while he cleared out his desk, he frowned and he never stopped frowning as his hands grabbed onto his belongings. He worked fast but suddenly he froze when his fingers closed on something lying on the bottom of his drawer. He swallowed with difficulty as he studied the object in his hands, carefully picking it up as if it would break just looking at it.

A single word escaped his mouth that he had no control on. "Damn."

"That's hers," Charlotte said carefully, her voice close in front of him. He hadn't even noticed her approaching him. There was no need for either of them to explain who "she" was; she didn't need to be called by her name for people to acknowledge her identity.

"Well…" His fingers caressed the shining, antique silver picture frame, hiding the image that was displayed. He swallowed again, stroking it one last time and then he looked up at his, by now, former colleague. "She gave it to me."

Charlotte held on to his gaze, she was trying to read him he realized. He allowed her for the time being, smiling at her briefly. Then, in a matter of a split second, her eyes softened and he knew she understood.

She smiled back but it was a sad smile, the corner of her mouth pulling downward soon after that. "We'll miss you," she finally said, her voice soft but now it lacked any accusation. For a moment she was silent but then she took a deep breath. "She will miss you."

He pressed his lips together and placed the picture frame in the box, closing the lids with a big sigh. "She'll be fine."

Charlotte heaved the same deep sigh and watched him place the last of his belongings in a large bag, his movements slower and more thoughtful.

"Goodbye Joe," she said, her voice hoarse.

He looked up, nodding gently at her. "Goodbye Charlotte."

She turned around and left the office of the former head of security, her face tinged with sadness. When the door fell shut he breathed deeply and his left hand reached out to open the lid of the box on his desk. As he looked at the framed image one last time, the glass mirroring the late afternoon sun in his eyes, he whispered something barely audible.

"You'll be fine, won't you?"

-------

Outside the tinted windows of the limo the dazzling, twinkling city was unfolding before her eyes, the compelling lights of Broadway shining brightly. It was a promise of an unforgettable evening of magic and grandeur that was as old as Ziegfeld himself, and she found herself believing all of it. No wonder Jack was grinning from ear to ear.

Nothing had surprised her more than Jack venturing into this particular field of entertainment. Far away in the world she knew she hadn't been able to picture him anywhere but in his office in London, sitting behind his big oak desk with a breathtaking view of The Thames behind him. Not that she had been to his office in years but it was still the place her mind wandered whenever she thought of him. It was where he belonged. Now that she was here with him the picture became a little clearer, the man who had conquered Parliament with his brilliant mind and sharp tongue slowly merging into the man who was now setting out to conquer Broadway with nothing but his distinguished title and unwavering charm. And a few million dollars give or take.

A raised brow in her direction made her aware that he had caught her studying him and he returned the gesture in kind, giving her attire for the evening a thorough look.  
Clarisse didn't move a muscle under his scrutinizing stare, putting all her faith in the sleek, black skirt and pearl embroidered jacket that hugged her curves in a way that she hoped was just classy enough to become a queen. The way his brow curved upwards told her he approved.

"You are really enjoying this aren't you?" she asked, a beautiful smile forming on her lips as she meet the stare of the man next to her. He was dressed to the nines and in every inch painted the picture of a man who knew he would be in every newspaper in the morning. On any other man the look of confidence and slight humour on his face would come off as pure arrogance, and perhaps it was, but she found herself unable to be anything but intrigued by it.

"What?"

"Oh, giving everybody with a Swiss bank account back home something to talk about at their next cocktail party. Making your father, bless his soul, turn in his grave. Making your ex wife grind her teeth that you are spending more on this venture than she got out of the divorce settlement. Take your pick." She raised a brow; giving him a knowing and somewhat teasing smile.

"So I get to piss off everybody I detest, give people something to talk about and make a few bucks off of it. What's not to enjoy?" Jack responded, his words softened by the small wink that would have made a fifteen-year-old boy sneaking into the girls' locker room proud. "Is this damn noose of a bowtie crooked or is it just my neck?"

Giving him a mock-annoyed look that conveyed that she didn't buy the presumably clever change of topic, Clarisse turned slightly in her seat and reached out to help him. "The problem couldn't be the man who tried to put it on, could it?"

That earned her an amused chuckle that assured her that she hadn't managed to hurt his male pride too much and she shook her head at him, her skilled fingers making fast work of untying the crooked bowtie.

"Darling I know the windows are tinted, but could we possible save this until after the gala?"

One would think that making a remark like that towards the Queen of Genovia would, besides being bad manners, earn you a slap on the face. Somehow having Clarisse Renaldi, leaning over close to you in a private limo and pressing softly against you with the movement of the car, called for a whole other set of rules. He had always been a man who considered himself lucky enough to get away with telling her something like that and despite what convention might say, her soft laughter told him that was something time hadn't changed.

She knew she should at least pretend to be offended, but this almost felt like being on vacation. A vacation with an old and dear friend who had the amazing ability to make her forget that she was a queen who should take offense to a suggestion like that. Instead, in his company, she simply felt like any other woman who might very well find it flattering and just a bit thrilling.

"Mature Jack, very mature," Clarisse scolded him as her laughter subsided, tugging a little more forcefully on the tie than was really needed." Tell me, does that kind of talk ever get you anywhere? Besides into trouble?"

The appreciative wink that he gave her as she leaned back in her seat inspecting her handiwork was answer enough.

It smelled old and new at the same time, the smell of old wood mixing with the recently dried paint and rich perfumes of the elegant ladies mingling in the hall.  
It was not a large theater, compared to most of the establishments along the great white way, but it was elegant and it had a soul. Joseph could feel it as he moved through the crowd of people, all admiring and discussing the exquisite red, velvet drapes, the thick carpets and the original painted ceiling.  
Besides it bringing a perfect atmosphere to the place, there was nothing like old money and old luxury to impress the rich and beautiful of today.  
He was well accustomed to this kind of people and yet he felt the need to hide a snort of laughter behind a discreet cough as he heard a middle-aged woman gush over her new wrinkle-free face. Her face was frozen in a distorted grimace, vaguely resembling a smile, not a muscle moving as she twirled around in her dress. It was an expensive dress at that, judging by how hideous it looked. One thing he had learned in this town was that you could always judge the price of the dress by how ugly it was.

He moved through the crowd as discreetly as possible, observing without disturbing, double-checking the more or less well known people that sipped their champagne without appearing as if he was staring at them. The scene was familiar; by now many of the faces were too, but the uneasiness he felt about being here was something he hadn't experienced since he was new and green on his first job. Everything felt off about this evening. He sensed a hush travel over the crowd, everyone's attention shifting away from whomever they had been talking to and he didn't need to hear the barely audible order in his earphones to know the moment had come. For just a second he wasn't sure if he was going to turn right around and head out the backdoor or work his way to the front. Later he would tell himself that his sense of duty had won out, but the truth was that his feet had made the decision for him, moving through the crowd on their own accord.

"Smile pretty darling, here we go," Clarisse whispered in his ear as she slid out of the car, accepting the hand he held out to her.

He didn't reply as he squeezed her hand lightly, placed it on his arm and slowly led her down the red carpet. The soft gasp that escaped her as she took in the impressive exterior of the theater in the glimmering lights made his smile widen with pride and he nodded gently as she looked up at him in astonishment. He had told her last night that the passion he felt about restoring this place was unlike anything he had felt in years doing the job he had been doing for as long as he could remember. Somehow the world he had been fooled into striving to rule seemed meaningless compared to the run down ruins of a long forgotten theater.  
It had seemed impossible explaining something that was so unlike him over the phone but sitting next to her in a dimly lit hotel room with a good glass of red wine in his hands he had tried his best. She hadn't really understood what he was taking about; he had seen it in her eyes, searching his for an answer to the puzzle in between sips of wine. Now she could finally see what he had seen all along.

"Jack it's absolutely…" she was at a loss for words, amazement and pride evident in her voice as he escorted her past the line of photographers, shaking her head in bewilderment.

"I'll always keep you guessing," Jack chuckled as they posed for one last picture, his arm draped around her waist as they both smiled at the cameras. He could feel more than hear her soft laughter in response as she leaned close to him; tilting her head slightly as she focused on the cameras and on a whim he leaned down and brushed his lips very briefly to her cheek.

If she was taken aback by his actions in such a public setting, she didn't show it, she just smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in that amused and slightly indulgent way he had always loved and he made a broad sweep with his arm. "Shall we?"

Joseph waited, just like everybody else, inside with eyes glued to the open door. From his angle he had a perfect view of the red carpet and he stood frozen, just watching her.  
He knew it was impossible but it seemed like time slowed down as she moved down the red carpet towards him, the bright camera flashes shining and fading in the night as in slow motion. She looked the same as he remembered, only more beautiful. She moved with the same grace she always had, holding her head high as her eyes traveled over the people lining the red carpet. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling and he was transfixed with the vision she presented, all his mixed emotions for a moment drowning in one single sensation; longing.

He didn't even notice the tall man next to her until she came to a halt just outside the theater, not that he understood how he could have failed to see him there with her. Standing there he was torn between admiring the picture they made, the compelling image of her smiling up at him with her bright blue eyes fixed on his face in wonder, and detesting the way the man put his arm around her, self assured that she wouldn't step away from the gesture.

With a painful stab he realized that he knew that smile, knew how it felt having her clear blue eyes locked with yours and reading nothing but trust in them. Was that how Sir Jack Bradford felt, leaning down to kiss her for the world to see?

They turned, and he followed every movement with his eyes as the couple made their way towards the entrance. His arm was still around her, guiding her forward and she took his direction without question, leaving the photographers behind without a second glance.  
Her lips were moving but he couldn't make out what she was saying, her face turned upwards towards him as she spoke, seemingly not expecting a reply but smiling softly as his hand brushed her side.

Spellbound by the display, it took Joseph a moment to realize that her eyes had left Jack Bradford's face and instead were focusing on him, her eyes widening as her glance met his. It lasted for no more than an instant, as brief as a flash of lightning, but he could read recognition in her face; recognition, disbelief and something else that he much later would realize was hurt.

What she read in his eyes he didn't know and he didn't wait long enough to find out, swiftly slipping out of her view and heading for the back exit. Now he knew what that strange feeling he had been shouldering tonight had been; fear.


	3. Chapter 3

Her suite felt comfortably warm and it breathed pure luxury, the soft carpet tickling teasingly between her toes as she made her way across the room. With her left hand Clarisse rubbed her hair dry, carefully dropping the fluffy towel around her shoulders when she was done. In her right hand she carried a mug filled with fresh tea and she sipped it carefully as she sat down in one of the soft, cozy chairs in front of the window. The city that never sleeps glittered underneath her and the view was nothing short of breathtaking. The evening that lay behind her had been a great success, and the company she had shared made her long, tiring trip worth it. She had every reason to feel satisfied and relaxed and yet…she felt quite the opposite.

She had seen him again. Joseph. She was sure it was him because she would have recognized him from the eyes alone. Those familiar eyes that in another lifetime made her feel secure, safe and something else that she had tried to forget. Those eyes had stared right into hers and she hadn't been prepared for it. Joseph was in New York. That thought had been running around in her mind all evening. She had not seen him for over…goodness two years already. Had it been really two years ago, since she came running out of the Castle to find him? Two years since she had talked to him for the last time on that cold, chilly autumn day? The memory of their last meeting made her shiver, in spite of the warm mug in her hands.

She had been pacing circles in her suite that day, knowing that outside her windows Joseph was filling his car with suitcases, boxes and loose items. He was leaving, leaving the Castle, leaving his job and…leaving her.

He had already said goodbye to her earlier that day, but it had left her with a strange, uneasy feeling. It hadn't been a proper good-bye, not after all that they had shared. Had it been anyone else it would have been appropriate, to say good-bye with the entire staff surrounding them. For anyone else, it would have been sufficient that she had made a speech about what he had meant to everybody involved. Had it been anyone else she wouldn't have gone over her actions again and again and again.

Oh, she was used to speaking in public but when it came to Joseph no words could express what she was feeling inside. With so many witnesses listening to her goodbye speech, she couldn't find it in herself to say what she had wanted to say. She'd learned the hard way to never let feelings overshadow her mind, she just couldn't drop her guard in front of her staff…when in her heart there was nothing she would rather do. Then it had been his turn to speak. He had talked about going where he would find more challenges, he had mentioned going back to his old job. Someone had approached him, he had said, and offered him the chance for something new. He would miss them, he had said, and for a moment he had looked straight into her eyes…until she had broken their gaze. It hurt too much.

And now he was outside, probably almost done packing his things. Maybe he was starting his car already, she didn't know. She didn't even know why she had been glued to her room all day, as if she was hoping that something would change about the situation with her staying in this room. What was she waiting for anyway, was she waiting for him to come? Was she waiting for a proper goodbye? She didn't know and yes, she was afraid to learn the answer.

She sighed deeply, walking slowly towards the doors and opening them without fully realizing what she was doing. What was she supposed to do anyway, what on earth could she say or do to change his mind? By the time she descended the staircase she still wasn't sure if she wanted to change his mind. She kept going back and forth, really questioning if it wouldn't be better to let him make this decision for the both of them. But her feet kept on moving, going faster as she moved across the hall and then, when she reached the back door, a sudden shiver shot through her. A shiver caused by the staggering realization that if she was too late, she would never see him again. She pulled the heavy door open, hurrying outside without bothering to find a coat or even a scarf, making a right after she descended the five steps leading off the terrace. Her heels crushed through the gravel in a fast pace, making her stagger a few times before she reached the private parking lot behind the Palace walls.

The familiar scent of gasoline reached her nose as she entered the lot and she pressed her lips together as her eyes scanned the area. The inside parking lot was dark and dusty and it gave space to a maximum of 100 cars, parked neatly in a straight line. Somehow she never felt really comfortable between the parked cars, where she couldn't see the entire scene in front of her. Even though only her personal staff had access to this lot, somehow she always felt as if someone would be able to surprise her. Soft music was playing through small speakers, it had been one of her suggestions to install them but now she didn't care to listen to it. Slowly she moved through the place, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete, at least to her ears. She walked calmly now, steady, searching around as if she was playing hide and seek, and then she finally heard what she was looking for. The sound of someone softly closing a car door not far away from her, a familiar cough that was barely audible although she recognized it in an instant. A great sense of relief came over her, realizing that she probably hadn't missed his exit after all.

"Joseph?" Her voice sounded a bit rough, a little uncertain, as if she'd been crying all afternoon. She had to admit, she had been close to it several times.

No answer came and she frowned, listening intensely.

"Joseph, are you there?" she repeated, walking towards the sound she heard earlier and then, right behind a big pillar a familiar head appeared, turning towards her direction. Joseph was looking at her directly.

"I'm here," he answered and his voice sounded tired and, if she heard it correctly, a bit taken aback as well.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved closer towards him, still not knowing what she came here for and what on earth she was going to say. Indecision wasn't something she was accustomed to. Ordinarily, she had no trouble at all assessing a situation and making a sound judgment call. In this case however, she was completely torn between acting on impulse rather than duty, for once in her life.

He was still looking at her as she approached him, his hands fiddling with a rope that was meant to tie a suitcase on the roof of his car. In her stomach a knot was forming, making it harder for her to breathe. The expression on his face was hard to read, for a second she would swear she saw a glimpse of amusement in his eyes but as she came closer she knew she was wrong. What she saw was pain, sheer pain mixed with something she couldn't put her finger on. He hadn't expected her here she realized.

"All set?" she asked softly as she came to stand in front of him, the open car door creating a shield between them. She folded her arms as if it was the most common thing in the world that she was there. Nothing was common about this situation though, nothing at all.

"Almost," he answered calmly and he gave one last pull on the rope to secure his suitcase. Then his hands were empty and he leaned over the car door with both arms, folding his hands together. "Now I am," he said just as softly and for a brief moment he smiled. His face turned serious just a moment later. He was trying to read her, she realized.

She grew silent and scolded herself almost instantly. The least she could do was explain why she was there. While she was at it, maybe she could explain it to herself as well. "I never expected you to leave," she finally said after a deep gulp of air, reaching out to stroke the cold steal of his car.

He shrugged, resting his chin on his hands. "Sometimes life steers you in a certain direction," he said and continued with a brief smile, "you of all people should know that."

She nodded and she felt the bitter taste of irony in her throat. "I just can't believe you're leaving," she swallowed with difficulty and shook her head slightly. "I can't even imagine not having…"

"Clarisse…" he interrupted and she looked up, feeling the knot in her stomach getting tighter.

"Yes?"

He licked his lips and his voice trembled, a sound that caused the lump in her throat to get even bigger. "For what it's worth…" he swallowed and inhaled deeply before he continued, "…this is the hardest thing I ever had to do."

Suddenly she felt the need to yell at him, to make him react stronger than the way he was standing there. Yet she stayed where she was, breathing deeply to hold back her tears. The silence hit her, annoyed her and brought her off balance and she wanted to break it desperately. Yet she didn't know how. She hesitated slightly before she spoke again. "It's just that I…" She stopped herself, and shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Her eyes sought his again. "I'm trying to understand, Joseph." Suddenly she shivered and she hugged herself tighter against the cold stream of air that blew through the parking lot.

"Are you cold? Where is your coat? You shouldn't even be here alone." Immediately the concern in his voice was back and he took a step back, closing his car door to be able to come closer to her. Instinctively his arms came up to rub her shoulders and it seemed as if her senses suddenly awakened. She heard the music play louder around them, she smelled his scent, she saw the kindness in his sad eyes and mostly... she felt him near her heart.

His movements continued but slowed down in pace, not longer rubbing but now stroking her arms. She felt his fingers closing around the inside of her arms, slowly increasing the pressure.

"Oh God please don't do this," she whispered, "you're only making it harder." Her throat tightened and tears were building behind her eyes as she looked at him, his face not far away from hers. She shook her head slightly but he didn't step back, he just drew closer to her.

"Or maybe I'm just finding the best way to say goodbye," he said in a low voice, slowly lowering his touch from her upper arms to her hands. Their fingers entwined there between the parked cars and it was that feeling of warmth at his touch that broke her resistance. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against his chest, feeling how he placed a slow kiss on her hair. Her eyes felt warm under her closed lids.

"I'll miss you," she whispered and her voice sounded broken, lost. She felt his deep sigh more than she heard it.

"I'm already missing you…" Slowly he released her hands and he circled her waist, pulling her into a sudden embrace. His perseverance surprised her, she hadn't expected him to react in the way he did but she melted against him as his arms pulled her even closer.

He was warm, comforting and she buried her cold nose in his neck, smelling his familiar scent for what could be the very last time. Her hands came up slowly to answer his unspoken invitation, burying herself in his arms. He drew her as close as he could get her, stroking her back with both hands now, touching her hair, nuzzling her neck. Her eyes were closed while she relished his embrace, but they snapped open when she heard his whispering voice in her ear.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Clarisse…"

She knew she should stop him, but she couldn't move a muscle as he slowly pulled away from her, taking her face in his hands. There was no sound of protest as he slowly drew her closer and claimed her lips. She felt her insides melt as he closed his arms around her again, his hands moving slowly across her back. Her lips trembled underneath him as she felt his warmth, smelled his scent and heard the crackling sound of his leather coat. His lips were soft and demanding at the same time, inviting her inside him and two seconds later inviting himself inside her. He took possession over her body and captured her mind as well, as he continued kissing her deeply.

Slowly she started to give more, surrendering to him, responding to his caresses more actively, pressing herself against him as he held her in his arms. The pleasure she felt from his touch was almost overwhelming. She couldn't resist the warmth of his body, or the feel of his lips upon hers. She responded to him instinctively, hungrily. She knew she was pleasing him by the way his breathing fastened and his hands came up to her hair, his fingers crawling through her hair, tickling her neck, his mouth never leaving hers. He held her as if he would never let her go and she allowed him, never willing to leave him either. She shivered against him, trembling underneath his moving lips, she tasted a faint taste of peppermint in his mouth, she smelled his cologne and it was oh, so real. He was real. Joseph. Finally, Joseph. Finally hers.

As if something stung him, he suddenly pulled back and their breaths were uncontrolled, two hearts pounding just as fiercely. She stared at him with disbelief, her eyes widened from shock and her legs still trembling underneath her. Suddenly she realized where they were and what had just happened between them.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" he muttered, pressing a hand against his lips.

"There's no need to be," she whispered, reaching out to him but he quickly took a step away from her, making her feel colder than ever before. "Joseph? Do you hear what…Joseph?" Her tone got a begging, desperate tone but she had no control on it. "My God, Joseph…"

"Forgive me," he repeated but he still didn't look at her. "Please forgive me, I wasn't thinking…"

She shook her head, her heart still pounding. "There's nothing to forgive," she whispered and took a step closer but she didn't dare to touch him again.

"I have to go." His voice was hoarse, but determined. She could only close her eyes in response.

It had felt so close, so warm, those wonderful minutes before, but now he was further away than ever before. She had lost him she realized, and it didn't surprise her when he got into his car and closed the door behind him immediately. She even took a few steps back to give him more space.

For the last time their eyes met as he started the car with a sound that was so loud that it startled her. For a moment she hesitated, bringing her hand up to her lips as he slowly drove forward. But when she finally decided to kiss her palm and lift her hand at him, he wasn't looking at her anymore. He simply drove away and never looked back. Goodbye, Joseph.

And now she was here, two years later and thinking back. Her tea was cold when she took another sip and with a sigh she placed it in the window sill, noticing how the glass was covered with tiny drops of rain. She never even noticed the change of weather. It had been two years since she'd watched him leave and this evening she had seen him again. She had believed that he was out of her life forever – but had he ever really left?


	4. Chapter 4

He knew he had to stop sometime soon. Working out too much was just as bad as not working out at all. The muscles in his legs felt hard, strained, painful even, and his shirt was soaked with his sweat. Yet his feet kept on moving and his fists pounded even harder on the punch bag in front of him. Every time he hit the heavy material he felt better for a second, yet the feeling didn't last longer than that. Time and time again he repeated the movement until he fell into some sort of rhythm, his ears were buzzing now and his eyes stung a little. But he ignored the signs of his body to take it slower. He was trained to ignore pain, after all.

He didn't want to think, he refused to think, he was tired of going back and forth constantly. He had been reliving the night before over and over again in his mind the entire day. For the first time in two years he had allowed himself to slip back into his old routine of dreaming, wondering and regretting. Bloody fool, that's what he was. It hadn't taken anything more that a glance at her face to put him right back into the past. That gorgeous face of hers had stared at him as if there were no other people around them. She was just as he remembered her, just as beautiful…no, she was even more beautiful than he had given her credit for. But still there was something different about her, something in her eyes that put his world upside down. The reaction in the depth of her blue, sparkling eyes took his breath away and he couldn't stop thinking about it. To his annoyance, he had to admit.

Time and time again his fists collided against the heavy bag and his back felt strained, painful, tensed. His breath was high in his chest, his heart pounded fiercely and suddenly he stopped, breathing deeply. He felt a presence behind him and he knew who it was before he had the time to turn around.

"Who are you beating the shit out of?" Erin's voice sounded calm and as he turned around to look at her, he found her leaning against a wall. She was casually dressed in a pair of light blue jeans and a white shirt that was hanging loosely over her hips. A brown suede jacket dangled between her folded arms.

He sniffed and wiped a drop of sweat away that slowly rolled down his temple. It was hard to do with a glove on. "Nobody," he said, still panting a little. He turned around again to stop the punching bag from swaying back and forth.

"Want me to hold that for you?" she inquired as she moved around the punching bag, tapping against it. "Or are you done killing yourself? I can wait for that, haven't been to a funeral lately."

"Don't be morbid Erin," he said. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She laughed, a short, sarcastic laugh. "Well I was waiting for a certain someone to arrive at Sardi's, but I guess he stood me up."

He coughed and glanced at the clock above the door, sighing deeply as he noticed the late hour. "Oh damned I'm sorry, I guess I lost track of time."

"I figured that."

As she kept looking at him, Joseph started his cooling down routine. He stretched his strained muscles to prevent them from aching the day after. He knew he would ache no matter what though. "How did you know where to find me?" he asked as he lifted his arms above his head, leaning from side to side.

"Lucky shot I guess." Erin sat down on a bench nearby, placing her coat in a pile next to her. She rested her gaze on him again and held on to it, tilting her head a little. "I know that I go to the gym when I'm upset about something."

He smiled briefly but there was no joy in his smile. "Who says I'm upset?"

"You're not yourself," she shrugged and handed him the towel that had been lying close to her.

With a groan he positioned himself next to her on the bench, patting his forehead dry with the soft cotton.

"What's wrong, Joe?" Erin's voice was soft but urging at the same time. "Did something happen?"

Joseph pressed his lips together when her warm hand found his arm, stroking his skin with an intimacy he suddenly couldn't handle. Her thumb caressed the inside of his upper arm, softly squeezing the tensed muscles underneath. Slowly he removed her hand from his arm, pressing her palm gently before he released her. "Don't read too much into it," he said and tried to sound comforting and relaxed, yet all that came out was a hoarse and bitter tone.

Erin frowned when he avoided her gaze. There was something in her friend's expression that concerned her deeply, as if something had crawled into his head that caused a sudden distance between them. She shook her head when he finally looked at her again. "Don't shut me out, you know I hate that."

Silence fell between them for a moment, a painful and uneasy silence. Joseph sighed, he knew he wasn't being fair here but he simply had no choice. He smiled briefly as he reached out to tuck a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. "I can't give you what you want, at least not now all right?" he asked, getting up from the bench.

"Joe…" Her voice trailed off, but the hint of broken pride and slight anger didn't escape his attention. He smiled at her, at least pretending he was trying to soften the message.

"Have a little faith in me." he said. "Please," he urged once more, staring into the hurt blue eyes in front of him.

"I could say the same thing to you," Erin stated coldly and walked towards the door. "But that's something you're not capable of, is it?"

With a loud bang she slammed the door of the gym shut, leaving him behind with nothing but his frustrations and a wet towel. He had heard these accusations before.

-----------

He already had one drink too many, make that two, and his better judgment told him he should pay the bill and head on home while he still could. His better judgment, however, had no chance against the cold, auburn liquid that burned his throat, made his eyes cloud over and effectively numbed the ache in his knee.

Home promised one of two things: an angry message from Erin on the answering machine wondering where the hell he was since he had conveniently switched of his cell phone, or worse, complete silence. He couldn't face either.

His third drink was slowly but steadily bringing him closer to the undignified and rather pathetic realization that he had made a complete ass out of himself in the gym. He wasn't sure who he blamed for it; himself, Erin or perhaps God Almighty himself.

He remembered when he first got to know Erin. He recalled the distinct memory of her leaning against his desk with a crooked smile on her face, not the least bit discouraged by his refusal to join her for a burger at the local dive after his shift. Raising a perfectly shaped brow at him, in a gesture that was intriguingly provocative and completely innocent at the same time, she had leaned over and whispered in his ear. She made it clear that although this strong, silent act seemed to be working for him, she was certain she would talk herself into his bed eventually, so he could stop putting up such a fight.

He may have, as the boys on the force would put it, been out of circulation for a long time, but he had no problem reading what the blonde, gorgeous woman in front of him had told him. She wasn't looking for a man to bring home to her parents; she wasn't even looking for a man to introduce to her girlfriends. She simply found him attractive, and she was pretty damn sure he found her attractive, too. Why make it anymore complicated than that? It was easy, free of obligations, no strings attached, not to mention unbelievably sexy. Of course nothing ever was as easy as that, and at his age he should have known better.

Erin played this game so well, far better than he did, but today she hadn't played it well enough to fool him. Something in her words had given her away. Her hand on his arm had been something more than friendly concern, more than an invitation to spend the night in her bed. She had needed to get close, had needed him to share a piece of himself with her. And he had pushed her away.

Joseph stared down into his drink, slowly turning the glass back and forward on the counter as he watched the treacherous liquid swirl around. He couldn't claim to read women very well, but he did know the expression he had seen on Erin's face. It was a perfect reflection of the look on Clarisse Renaldi's forlorn face not so long ago as she had looked down on him from his bedside. Hurt, sadness and disappointment.

The way Clarisse had looked that day would stay with him as long as he lived. He was sure of that. During those awful weeks, she had become the most fragile, beautiful woman he had ever seen. So fragile that it had made him ache inside as she had walked up to his bedside and sat down, the mattress shifting slightly under her small weight. She hadn't been eating enough. Her long sleeved black dress hung loosely on her frame, her blue eyes haunted and tired. Her hand was cold as ice, as she had reached out to stroke his, despite the afternoon sun shining in through the window.

"How are you feeling?"

He had fixed his eyes on a point somewhere behind her, as if he was looking straight through her. He had tried not to feel the slight pressure of her thumb caressing the back of his hand, moving in small circles on his skin. It was an act of compassion he didn't deserve, accepting it would have been a betrayal against everything he knew. He had moved away from her, slipping away from her touch under the pretense of shifting to a more comfortable position.

She hadn't said anything, but she had sensed the distance he was putting between them. She bit her lip, hurt that he had refused the comfort she was offering. He had pretended not to see it. He ignored the impulse to reach out and touch her, to make amends for pushing her away at a time when they both desperately needed each other's strength. He could never tell her how much.

"I feel fine. It's minor surgery. I won't be able to put any weight on the knee for a couple of months though. It might be a bit of an inconvenience for you, but nothing Shades can't handle."

Every word he had uttered was bullshit and they had both known it. Nothing that had happened in the last few weeks could ever be described in terms as simple as "minor surgery" or an "inconvenience". An uncomfortable silence had fallen between them. Sitting in silence had never been a problem for them; they could stay silent for hours and still speak volumes. It had become their way of communicating, of sharing things that were too important to be tainted by words. This was a different kind of silence, cold and dark. A silence full of regret and, on his part, a sense of guilt more numbing than anything he had ever felt before.

"Joseph…" She had seemed to find her courage, looking up to search his face, her voice trembling slightly. "Please talk to me. You haven't talked to me since…"

She hadn't been able to finish the sentence, her eyes pleading with his to finish it for her, to meet her half way. She was asking him to share the burden with her instead of letting them both struggle alone in the darkness of their own minds. He had never seen her so vulnerable. She was baring her torn soul for him with tears in her eyes, the horror of the last few weeks evident there. And he had looked away.

"I don't know what it is you want me to say."

His words had been cold and deliberate, knowing exactly how she would react even before he had finished the sentence. It hadn't made it any easier to watch. She had looked like he had just reached out and slapped her in the face, and he had bitterly admitted to himself that he might as well have. Somewhere in the haze of fear and blame that now controlled him he had pushed her so far away that she might never return.

"I wonder why I came."

He hadn't even looked up to see the door shut behind her.

---------

"So you actually worked for her," Erin stated, as if saying it out loud would make this new and quite unexpected information sink in any faster. "Wow."

She could be more eloquent than that, but 'wow' really was the only thing that came to mind. She realized that she probably sounded like an 16 year old who had just been presented with a whole keg of beer at her first unsupervised frat party. After last night's blow up at the gym, she had been pretty sure she wouldn't hear from him for a good long while. To say that she was surprised by the uncharacteristic invitation for 'pizza and a bad movie' would be putting it mildly. She had half suspected that he had called her over to, as nicely as he could, break this off before it got any messier. But there he was, next to her on the black leather couch, taking a swig of his beer and telling her his life story. Well maybe not his life story exactly. He didn't appear to be offering anything more than his past job history. And now he was looking at her, as if expecting her to make something useful out of that small piece of information.

'Oh, come on doll,' Erin thought to herself, buying herself some time by raising the bottle to her mouth and taking a long drink. 'At least try to act intelligent here and ask him something'.

"So… did you enjoy it?" What the hell kind of a question was that! It wasn't like he was telling her that he once took a vacation to Bermuda. "I mean...it must have been quite an interesting job…following a Queen around all day."

"You could say that." Joseph let out a small chuckle and reached out to grab another beer from the carton on the table. He twisted off the cap in one smooth motion and threw it into the wastebasket in the corner. "Although 'following the Queen around' doesn't even begin to describe it."

There was something in his voice, a slight sense of wonder that immediately caught her attention. She decided to take a stab at it, giving him a scrutinizing stare.

"Yeah, I can imagine. I could never stand being at somebody's heels all the time, every day."

"No, it wasn't like that. It was different.…simply because the people I worked to keep safe everyday weren't faceless men and women I would never see again. I did more than just follow Clar…the Queen around. I was there whenever she needed me, to help her in whatever way I could."

The feeling that she had somehow managed to insult what he had apparently taken great pride in doing for over two decades momentarily threw her for a loop. She would have guessed that he would have hated that kind of life. Obviously she had read him completely wrong, and now she wasn't quite sure which direction she should take this.

She wanted him to keep talking to her, to stay where he was on the couch with his beer. God help her, this man was getting under her skin in a way she had promised herself he wouldn't. She had a feeling that she was just one more question away from him calling it a night, and she was damned sure the occasion to talk like this would never arise again.

"So she was a nice person to work for then?" It was a long shot, but he didn't seem to find the question offensive, in fact he was chuckling softly, shaking his head in amusement.

"She is one of the most demanding women I have ever met, present company excluded of course."

"Of course," Erin repeated with a wry smile. "I wouldn't think you'd mind that in a woman though."

Choosing not to confirm her statement, Joseph leaned back on the couch and breathed deeply, trying to find the best words to describe Clarisse Renaldi.

"She has one of the hardest jobs in the world, but her strength is that she makes it seem so easy. She has made so many personal sacrifices over the years. The pressure to maintain traditions, the rules she is expected to hold up, the balls, the dinners, the political debates, the charities, the worries and the thousand demands people have on her every day. With just a smile she makes people believe there is nothing to it, that it is all a perfect fairytale. No one understands the price she pays to present such a perfect portrait of a Queen."

Joseph trailed off, somehow feeling that he was failing in painting an image of this woman that would do her justice. He sat in silence for a moment, contemplating how else to describe everything that was Queen Clarisse Renaldi, besides the fact that she was amazing at her job.

Erin was looking at him, obviously waiting for him to continue. With a deep sigh he rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom, soon returning with a heavy, antique silver frame in his hand.

"Here," he said softly, sitting down next to Erin. "This might give you a better idea."

It was a beautiful picture, shot in the palace rose garden on one of those wonderful days in early summer when everything was in bloom and had yet to succumb to the heat. It wasn't a perfect shot, far from it. It was slightly out of focus and neither of them was looking into the camera, but somehow that imperfection had captured that day perfectly.

The garden had always been one of Clarisse's favorite places, where she went to relax, where she could be herself. Joseph had always been grateful it was a place, and a state of mind, that she was willing to share with him. They would often sit in the garden with an ice tea and sometimes a book, a historic novel for her and a murder mystery for him. They didn't have to be anything more to each other than friends. Not a monarch and not a security guard, just…friends.

The image of the two of them standing together in the soft morning sun was beautiful. Clarisse fussing with a delicate, cream colored rose and smiling up at him, and Joseph teasingly holding the garden scissors out of her reach.

He had seen hundreds of pictures of her over the years but not a single one of them had ever taken his breath away the way this one did. Somewhere deep down he knew that it wasn't just the picture, it was what it represented. Every time he looked at it he could recall the way she had laughed at him, carefree and indulgingly playing along in his childish tease. They had been friends, but also so much more than that. There was something more between them than they would ever speak of and yet they had both known it to be true.

As it turned out, the picture had never been used. For some reason, it had not fit into the "everyday at the palace" exhibit at the tourist center, and it made the picture ever more special to him. Declining to use it in the exhibition, Clarisse had held on to the picture herself. Months later she had slipped into his office and placed it on his desk in a shiny, perfect frame complete with the Genovian crest. A small note had been attached to it. _"I thought you would like a picture of yourself where you are not standing two feet behind me with half your head cut off."_

He had never thanked her for it and she had never asked if he liked it. Somehow there hadn't been a need to.

"That's quite a garden she's got there," Erin noted without really knowing what else to comment. The obvious intimacy between them in the picture had surprised her, as did the queen's undeniable beauty. She suddenly felt utterly uncultured and lacking in finesse. She had never done anything more than skim through the gossip columns in the magazines at her hairdresser's and now she was suddenly taking a pop quiz in Royalty 101. "All I thought when I saw her in the paper the other day was that she looks really great, for her age I mean. She doesn't look a day over fifty."

Deciding against reminding her that he himself was about the same age, and then some, Joseph only gave a small nod. He was still getting by on being the "mysterious older man" in her life but he wasn't sure how long it would take before she saw beyond that entirely and called his bluff. He really didn't need to help that realization along.

"Yeah well..." His voice trailed off and he rose to return the picture to its rightful place. He didn't know where else to take this conversation. It had started off as a way of making up for his being an idiot, and somehow had deteriorated into a game of twenty questions. Maybe it was the beer, or the strange desire to please Erin by sharing something of himself, but he was rapidly starting to feel self-conscious about what he had just told her. The feeling refused to leave him and he sighed deeply as he returned to the couch, opening another beer just to busy himself.

The unexpected knock on the door was a welcome distraction and he gave Erin an apologetic smile. He murmured some nonsense about not knowing who that could be and gratefully rose to answer the door.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello, we're back with an update! Sorry it took a little longer than expected. Thank you for your great reviews so far, they give us wings when we're stuck and we're very grateful for that. We hope you'll enjoy this next chapter and please, let us know what you think. With love, Janet and Martina._

-----------

She didn't think she had ever felt so out of place. Her high and utterly impractical heels were sinking into the soft, moss green carpet of the apartment hallway, and it made her feel off balance. Her much too elegant, slim skirt seemed completely inappropriate in such casual surroundings. Passing a middle aged woman carrying a weeks worth of groceries in her arms, she bowed her head in embarrassment, for the millionth time wondering why in the world she was putting herself through this. It was like a sore tooth that you just couldn't help to brush over, or a mosquito bite you couldn't stop scratching even though you know you should.

In a few days she would return home, despite Jack's best attempts to get her to prolong her stay. She had been up all night asking herself if she would be able to leave. Would she be able to get on a plane and pretend like she hadn't seen him? Pretend that he was just an old friend she once knew who now belonged in a box in the attic with other fond memories? The answer was no.

So there she was, seemingly still debating if she should reach out and knock on the door or not. Deep down she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would.

Drawing a shaky breath, she reached out and tapped on the door. She felt a rush of terror mixed with excitement that half made her want to turn right around and run before he reached the door. Dear God what would he say, finding her on his doorstep?

Everything was complete silence, not a sound coming from the other side of the door. Her mind raced, jumping from one conclusion to another. What if he wasn't home? Or worse; what if he had happened to look out the window and had seen the limo waiting outside? Perhaps he didn't want to see her.

Her last thought instantly sobered her up. She squared her shoulders, reaching out and tapping the door once more, a little more insistently this time. He was going to see her whether he wanted to or not. He had not given her a choice when he walked away without a word in the theater, and she wouldn't give him a choice now. He had no right making that decision for the both of them. He had no right turning her world upside down like that and then just slipping off into oblivion.

Every self-righteous thought she had flew out of her head the second the door swung open and she stood face to face with him. His dark eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her, and her heart beat so loudly she was sure he must hear it. An uncertain smile graced her lips.

"Hello…" She could think of a million better ways to great him. She had spent a good fifteen minutes in the limo coming up with ways to explain her presence at his doorstep, but a simple 'hello' seemed to be the only word her mouth was capable of forming.

"Clarisse!" He was in too much shock to reflect on the fact that it might be inappropriate to call her by her name. She didn't seem to notice, tentatively studying him as if to make out if he was glad to see her or not. His common sense told him that he shouldn't be, after all, he had done his best to avoid her. Still, he couldn't help the small jolt of pleasure that ran through him at the sight of her. She had looked breathtaking from afar when he had seen her the night before; the radiant Queen of the ball, but this was the Clarisse he knew best. She was dressed in one of what she had once laughingly called her 'power suits," that fit her perfectly. She was beautiful, regal, poised, and yet so down to earth, so warm. Her short, blonde strands were combed back in her usual elegant but practical manner, showing off a pair of simple pearl earrings.

He realized he should say something more than her name; she was obviously waiting for him to. Her smile was slowly fading as the seconds passed by and he knew her well enough to know the panic that must be building up inside of her. Or maybe he was just projecting his feelings onto her.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

He could have kicked himself, but somehow the all too obvious statement broke the tension and he drew a deep breath of relief. Her soft laughter echoed in the hallway.

"So I gathered," Clarisse said, shaking her head at the awkwardness between them. Their conversation skills were certainly nothing to be proud of. Or maybe they were just out of practice. She had missed that smile of his she realized, that smile that seemed to radiate more from his eyes than his mouth, warm and teasing at the same time.

"How did you find me? Did you come here by yourself?" he asked, as their laughter subsided. For the first time he took his eyes off her and scanned the hallway for the dark clad man he expected to see looming in the shadows.

"You're in the phone book," she said with a smile. "And, no, I'm not alone.

Shades is waiting in the car."

"He should have come up with you," he stated, not completely succeeding in keeping the disapproval out of his voice.

"I told him to wait in the car. Ever since I got here there has been an army of people following me everywhere. I should be able to…"

"…take one step without somebody needing to report it," Joseph finished for her, shaking his head slightly at the still familiar triad he had heard a hundred times before. "I trust that you're keeping everybody busy?"

The corners of her mouth turned upwards in admission, knowing that denying it would be futile. Joseph had been her sparring partner in that kind of argument enough times to know every angle she had ever used.

"Can I come in?" she nodded towards the half open doorway with a small smile. "Or am I interrupting your weekly cleaning?"

She had barely uttered the words when a loud clatter sounded from inside. Joseph turned his head, suddenly remembering Erin, who now glanced sheepishly at him from the couch. She was swiftly collecting the stack of empty beer bottles that had scattered all over the spotless glass table.

"Sorry," she mouthed silently to Joseph, drying her hands on her faded jeans. She really hadn't meant to make her presence known, but the prospect of presenting this woman, whom Erin had quickly determined to be the recently discussed queen, with the mess leftover from their pizza dinner seemed somehow wrong. Not to mention the six-pack of empty beer bottles.

Joseph threw her a somewhat annoyed glance, turning his attention back to the woman at the other side of the door. Erin sighed deeply.

"Of course, come on in," Joseph murmured, avoiding the raised brow Clarisse gave him as she stepped past him. Damn it. He cringed inside as her eyes landed on Erin.

He could see the change in Clarisse's demeanor instantly, the mask of the polite and reserved Queen appearing just as soon as she realized they were not alone. He had seen that change in her before, the way she retreated back to a place where nobody could reach her on a personal level. He could read her like a book, and knowing her as well as he did, he knew what emotions she was hiding simply by the way she was hiding them. Right now, it hurt him to know that the kind, but distant façade she had suddenly adopted was covering up the confusion and hurt she felt over the surprise of finding him with someone else.

She felt like somebody had just knocked the air out of her, her cheeks heating in embarrassment over all the assumptions she had made. Somehow she had just assumed that nothing at all had changed these past few years. She had imagined that she could knock on his door for some company and find him alone, seemingly doing nothing but waiting for her to come. And he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Silently her eyes traveled across the blonde woman who smiled somewhat hesitatingly at her, taking in the worn jeans, bare feet and the white t-shirt three sizes too big. Was it Josephs?

She tried desperately to regain her composure. "I am so sorry! I didn't realize you had company. And it seems I've interrupted your dinner." She forced the words out of her mouth, years of training coming to her rescue and she managed a polite, albeit distant, smile.

Giving Joseph an annoyed glance for standing as still as a concrete over by the door without showing any sign of wanting to introduce them, Erin took it upon herself to break the silence and reached a hand out. "Oh, no! We were all done. I am Erin, very nice to meet you."

She wasn't even sure that a hand-shake was the appropriate way to greet a queen. Maybe she should have added a _"Your Majesty"_ somewhere at the end, but she had to do something and to her relief the elegant woman before her returned the gesture in kind.

"Nice to meet you, Erin," Clarisse answered, knowing her smile didn't reach her eyes. Who was this young woman? Did they live here together? She seemed to have been making herself comfortable, but there was no sign of a woman's touch anywhere in the room. There were no candles, no flowers, no pictures.

She felt the woman studying her too, taking in everything from the designer handbag on her shoulder to the soft cashmere coat, and she felt utterly uncomfortable under the inspection. She seemed to know who she was. Had Joseph told this woman about her? His former boss, the widowed queen of Genovia?

For reasons she didn't fully understand, she felt somehow betrayed. Betrayed that a kiss she had never managed to forget, that had been in her thoughts and in her heart ever since he left, had apparently been nothing but a goodbye kiss after all. All this time she had fantasized about him missing her somewhere on the other side of the earth, just as much as she missed him. She had imagined him thinking about what she might do every day just as she had tried to picture him wherever he might be.

She had hoped that somewhere deep down he wanted to come back to her just as desperately as she had wanted him to return. Now, with painful clarity, she realized that was why she had come looking for him today. To ask him to return to her. And now here she was, looking at a man who might never have existed at all, except in her heart. He had obviously made himself a life here; an interesting job, an apartment at the Upper East Side and a young, gorgeous girlfriend. She had never felt so humiliated in her life.

The silence was beginning to get awkward and Erin threw Joseph a look of desperation that he didn't even seem to notice, his eyes staring blankly at the both of them.

"I saw you in the paper the other day, your Majesty. At a theatre opening".

Erin found herself saying the first thing that came to mind. With some relief, she congratulated herself that she had managed to use a title that at least seemed appropriate this time. "It seems like it was a very successful opening night."

Suddenly reminded that she was on some level engaged in a conversation with this woman, Clarisse pulled herself together. Joseph had yet to utter a word. She wasn't going to stand there and fall to pieces right before his eyes, if that was what he was waiting for.

"Yes it was a lovely evening." Somehow she managed to sound completely composed and friendly, and for that she was eternally grateful. Her mother would have been proud of her. "I think Sir Bradford was very pleased with it."

"It was a great success for him no doubt."

They were the first words he had spoken since Clarisse stepped over the threshold and both women turned their heads to look at him. Erin painting the perfect picture of innocent curiosity in contrast with Clarisse's guarded expression they were would have been an interesting sight to behold under different circumstances. Right now the two of them could best be described as a potential mine field you were forced to walk though blindfolded; lethal and with no sense of direction.

He wasn't sure there even was a subject appropriate for this occasion but Jack Bradford certainly wasn't it.

The time he, however respectfully, had voiced his reservations about the man was one of the few times Clarisse had made it very clear that he had no right giving her personal advice. The reprimand had stung like a wasp bite and the worst part of it was that she had been right. He hadn't the right to give her advise, not anymore.

To this day, Joseph didn't know who he detested the most: himself or the man whom Clarisse had granted every right to be at her side when she needed it.

"So…..what brings you here, your Majesty?" Erin interjected, feeling acutely uncomfortable in the strained silence.

Clarisse shifted her eyes away from Joseph, shaking of the feeling that there might have been a suggestion in his words that she didn't like.

Erin was smiling polity at her, waiting for an answer and she could feel Joseph's eyes on her also. She realized that he, too, was probably wondering why she had sought him out in the first place. She had no idea what to tell them. She couldn't stand there and bare her soul. Just what was she supposed to tell this woman she didn't even know? What could she possibly say to this man she had thought she knew so well? Tell him that she missed him? That she wanted him to come back? That an hour hadn't passed since she saw him in the theater that she hadn't thought of him? It was impossible.

"I…I…." She could hear herself wavering and hated herself for it. She hated Erin whom she wished she had never met, and she hated Joseph for making this so difficult for her.

"I just had this wonderful idea that it would be so nice to go out to dinner together one evening before I return home. You, too, of course, Erin. After all, it isn't that often I visit the States, and it is so hard to stay in touch."

She could hardly believe what she had just suggested. It had just rolled off her tongue with such ease and conviction that she almost believed herself that it was the reason she had really come here tonight.

Joseph stared at her disbelievingly. "I don't think…"

Erin interrupted him before he could finish the sentence, smiling for the both of them. "That sounds like a great ideal! Right Joe?"

Clarisse's eyebrow arched slightly at the Americanization of his name, in her head conjuring up the image of an overweight, beer drinking truck driver. Joe? She smiled to herself but immediately checked herself, staring blankly at him. There might have been a time when she would have teased him endlessly for such a nickname, but that time had surely passed.

Joseph, unable to decide whether to first wipe the condescending look off Clarisse's face or put a gag on Erin before she had a chance to evoke greater damage, ground his teeth. "Wonderful."

----------

New York had always been a place of contradictions for her, it appealed to her and it annoyed her at the same time. If there was something Clarisse detested, it was crowds. Herds of people rushing through the same street, endless rows in front of a theater, traffic jams that seemed to block the entire city – oh she wasn't fond of chaos in general really. But there was something appealing about this wondrous city as well. Usually she would find great joy in taking a walk through Central Park, feeling how winter slowly crept in, seeing young couples having their last picnic of that season on the grass and watching their children play ballgames. But today, even though she was strolling across these exact paths and red leaves played around her feet, she didn't notice the activity or the pleasures in the big city that much. Today she didn't notice anything at all.

Her hand was safely tucked under the arm of the handsome man next to her; their feet hit the sidewalk in perfect synchrony. If one didn't know better, he would think that this was a normal couple on a Sunday afternoon outing. Yet if one watched the scene a few seconds longer, he would notice the two Secret Service men following these two at a safe distance.

She wasn't pleasant company today, she was very well aware of that but she couldn't find it in herself to put up a charade either. She had tried though, to put a happy smile on her face when Jack picked her up at her hotel this morning. The previous night had been nothing short of a disaster. She hadn't slept a wink and she was sure that the obvious signs of that were clearly visible. Yet, Jack hadn't commented on it as she expected him to. He was too much of a gentleman to comment on negative details and yet, she felt that he sensed that something was wrong. As she glanced sideways to look at his face, her suspicions were confirmed by the hint of concern in his brown eyes. The smile that tugged on his lips was endearing to say the least, and she answered his smile. Finally, her mood mellowed a bit. She realized once more that Jack Bradford was actually good for her spirits. She needed to be reminded of that more often.

He seemed to have the same thoughts. "I can't tell you what a joy it is for me to have you here, darling," he said with his low distinguished voice, squeezing her arm just a little.

She smiled at his remark and nodded. "It's a joy to be here," she responded and lifted her face to catch the refreshing smell of the trees that surrounded them. For a moment, the cool wind seemed to blow away her concerns. "Oh Jack…," she sighed, "why can't it always be like this?"

His eyes followed her as she freed herself from his hold and she walked a few paces ahead of him. That long black coat she was wearing made her look as sophisticated as ever and the perfect fitting seemed to embrace her slim figure. He hesitated before he voiced his thoughts, taking a few steps in her direction so he came to stand behind her. He was careful not to touch her, knowing that what he had to say would be difficult for her to hear. "Because you don't allow yourself time to find a little joy?" he asked softly and smiled when he heard her deep sigh. "Am I right or am I right?"

For a moment he was afraid she wouldn't respond, but then she glanced over her shoulder to meet his gaze. When her eyes met his he saw it again, the hurt in those deep blue eyes shone through although her lips were slightly curved into a smile. She just nodded at him, her eyes never leaving his. He could stare into those eyes forever.

"How long has it been Clarisse?" he asked softly, slowly lifting his hands to touch her shoulders.

As if it was her cue, she turned her head away from him again and she heaved another big sigh. "Since what?" she asked softly, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer. His hands were slowly stroking her arms now and she swallowed with difficulty. His touch felt pleasant and comforting, yet she was suddenly fearful of being too close to him, afraid of what he would say. She felt the urge to step away but she stayed where she was, still, waiting for him to respond.

"Since you allowed yourself to be just… you," he finally said. When she didn't answer right away he changed his tone. "Or am I asking something really inappropriate now? Queens aren't allowed to have fun in this day's society? Afraid you'll end up on the cover of some sleazy magazine?"

His light, casual tone seemed to clear the air a bit and she laughed softly along with him, lifting her shoulder just a little to scold him. Oh, he was nothing but dear, and yet, Jack Bradford was about the last person on earth she could possibly confide in right now. How could she share her feelings? How could she even start to explain what went around in her head ever since she closed the door of Joseph's apartment? She wanted to scream, yell her frustrations away and, while she was at it, even swear loudly and uncontrollably. And oh, if she was really honest she wanted to cry. But she shouldn't cry, not about this, not anymore, and especially not in the arms of the man behind her. Opening up to him, again, would show him her interest, her care, her trust and possible some devotion that she wasn't sure she possessed. He was her friend, yes, but somewhere underneath those kind words was something hidden and she couldn't just close her eyes for it. Her emotions were running wild and if she gave into them, it wouldn't be fair to him. It wouldn't be fair to anyone if she couldn't even be honest to herself. But by seeking his companion she was constantly walking a thin line, that much she realized as she turned and started to walk again, not touching him this time.

"You remember Amelia, don't you?" she said in a light tone, making clear that she wanted to move on from the awkward silence of a moment ago.

He nodded with a smile. "Yes, you told me she's in college now. She's in her second year now, right? Is there such thing as a Princess Academy?"

She was glad they had found a safe topic to talk about and gratefully she started to share the details about her granddaughter. Amelia, once again, seemed to lighten the mood immensely. She had to thank her for that one day.

As she was talking, she didn't notice the frown on Jack's face. This meeting reminded him of something that happened three years earlier.

He had landed in Genovia two days after he had heard the devastating news of Prince Philippe's passing. He never waited for an official invitation, he simply couldn't stay away from his good friend in this terrible time. He just had to go see her. To this day, he couldn't even imagine how she had managed to pull through, to loose a husband and a son within a year.

He had been preparing himself to see a different Clarisse than the sparkling, energetic woman he had once known. But nothing could have prepared him for the sad vision in front of him, as he was escorted into her private chambers that cold Tuesday. He had expected her to be crying, that she would hardly be able to talk straight, that she would have sent him away even. But no matter what he expected, he never saw it coming that she would be…working. She seemed to be buried behind books, loose papers, files, and various documents. Her computer was on, she was constantly writing and she hadn't given herself much time to welcome him. Her mindless eyes didn't seem to really meet his inquiring stare as he walked up to her to pay her his condolences. Her pale face had shocked him beyond anything, her red puffy eyes, the trembling lips, her breath that was high in her chest. Her attitude was closed but yet, without hesitation, she had offered him a suite in the Palace and he had accepted the gesture. They would talk later when nobody was around, he was certain of that. And as it turned out, he wouldn't have to wait long for it.

It had been the day of the funeral. He couldn't even remember many details of the ceremony, it was how a funeral was, filled with sadness and deep grief. He had to watch a mother burying her own son. Thank God she didn't have to do it alone, she was being supported under the arm by her other son Pierre and as always, her loyal staff was nearby. Her blonde assistant Charlotte hadn't left her side and close behind her was the chief of security, leaning on a cane. Vaguely Jack remembered how Clarisse had turned around to call these two a little closer. They stood next to her as the casket was lowered into the ground. It had been a heartbreaking sight that he never had managed to get out of his head.

The day itself had passed in a rush. All the faces he had seen, all the people that had gathered to say goodbye to the Crown Prince. He couldn't even imagine what it must have been like for her. But she had pulled through, thanking everybody for coming with that familiar, graceful attitude. She had always been a strong woman, but the strength she showed that day, under such unbearable grief, had touched him deeply.

That evening he had spent in the Palace with other guests, talking about appreciating life and God knew what else, constantly thinking of her. He felt the need to talk to her, to comfort her, yet he also knew that everybody gathered there felt the same way. Never had he seen so many people willing to make someone feel better, never had he heard more loving words concerning one person. If only she knew how much people truly cared about her.

He had gone to bed, restless, his head full of thoughts and concerns and his stomach was tied in a knot. A few hours later though, he was still awake and a headache had formed. The atmosphere in the Palace was muggy, filled with sadness and grief and he wanted to escape it just for a little while. Never had he been prepared for a sudden meeting in the Palace Garden though.

She was sitting in the gazebo, he recognized her small frame from a long distance and he hesitated before he approached her. It was deadly silent, not a sound to be heard but the own beating of his heart. There she was, alone in every way possible and that realization pushed him towards her in slow paces. He could only see her profile. He saw the folded hands in her lap, the lowered head and what struck him mostly, her frozen attitude. She wasn't moving at all.

"Clarisse?" No matter how soft he tried to say her name, she jumped up from the stone bench and he wanted to bite his tongue off for startling her this way. He shouldn't have disturbed her.

"Who's there?" she asked, her voice sharp and her head turning in his direction. "J…"

"It's me, Jack," he said before she could continue, and she heaved a big sigh as he entered the gazebo. "Easy…it's just me," he repeated.

"I… I.. thought…my God," she stammered, lowering herself to the bench again. Her breath was high in her chest and she turned her head to look around her. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said softly as he moved to sit next to her. "It wasn't my intention."

"That's all right," she said softly, her voice hoarse. "I'm awake now."

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, glancing at her dark profile. He couldn't see much but he saw she was looking at her hands, her lips pressed together. She just shook her head in response. He nodded knowingly. "Not surprising, after a day like this."

"I had expected to be tired," she suddenly said softly and now she turned her head to look at him.

"You haven't slept much the last couple of days, have you?" he asked, hesitating before he placed his hand on hers. They felt cold and tensed.

"I don't even know," she responded with a deep sigh, "I can't remember much of it to be honest."

He left his hand where it was, feeling the shiver that ran through her body. "How long have you been here?" he whispered, softly squeezing her hands now.

"A few hours, maybe less…" she said almost just as softly. After a long pause her voice became stronger. "Why aren't you asleep? You have the best bed in the palace you know."

"I do?" he chuckled softly, "Ungrateful jerk that I am, I couldn't even sleep in the best bed of the palace…"

Her lips curled upwards for a second and he caught her deep sigh, feeling how her fingers slowly relaxed under his touch. "Very ungrateful," she nodded.

Silence fell upon the garden again and he inhaled deeply, unsure of what to say or do. Everything seemed inappropriate right now. "It was a beautiful service," he finally said carefully.

She nodded, lifting her face to look at the dark sky. He followed her gaze, not a star was visible in the darkness. "I don't know what to do Jack," she suddenly said, sounding lost. "I don't know what to do…"

He squeezed her hands a little tighter. "Right now you don't have to do anything Clarisse," he said, "For now, we just sit." He heard her breath quicken, getting higher in her chest. "We just sit," he whispered again. When she didn't respond he released her hands and shifted a little closer towards her. He didn't have to do more than put his arm around her and then, after a few deep breaths she finally broke, her shoulders jolting against him. She cried almost without sound but as she turned her head to hide in his embrace, her tears wet his shirt.

"Let it go," he softly said, cradling her softly in his arms. "It's all right, let it go…"

"Oh God…" she cried, her voice broken, "Oh dear God…my son…"

"I know…" he soothed, "I know…"

He didn't know how long they sat there, he just continued to hold her close and stroke her hair. It was as if she had dropped every emotional barrier within her and he was grateful for it. Clarisse was many things but she was also too hard on herself and he knew that this moment had to come. Although his heart broke at the sound of her sobbing, he was also convinced that this was needed for her to get through this.

Slowly her cries subsided but he kept on cradling her softly, going from left to right in a comforting rhythm, stroking her hair. Her breathing eventually became deeper and steadier. Finally regaining a bit of control, she untangled herself from his embrace.

"My goodness," she said, her voice broken and hoarse and she coughed. "I don't do this…" she said, shaking her head.

He smiled at her as she turned to look at him again. "You should," he said, framing her warm cheeks with both hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and shook her head, finally meeting his gaze.

Slowly he wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Shhh…you should cry Clarisse, it's healthy."

She closed her eyes as he slowly reached out to place a kiss on her forehead. As he pulled back she opened them again and for a moment he was lost in the eyes in front of him. She was allowing him to look beyond the Queen, for one moment he was allowed to look in her soul. His hands never left her face as he slowly leaned in and placed a kiss on her trembling lips. He kissed her softly, gently and one single tear reached his fingers as he slowly pulled away from her. "And now you promise me that you'll never say you're sorry again," he said, slowly releasing her face.

She smiled, a sad but brave smile. "I promise," she said.

The silence that fell between them wasn't loaded this time; it was comforting and easy to sit there. She was leaning against him now, her head resting on his shoulder and he was holding her hands again. "Can I make a confession?" he finally asked in a light tone, rubbing her hands now, warming them without really paying attention to it.

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyebrows raised. "Do I want to know?" she asked, her voice a little steadier as well.

He shrugged. "Not sure."

"Try me anyway."

He heaved a big sigh. "I have to confess…" he started, acting like he was uncomfortably shifting in his seat, "…that I really hate pears."

For a moment it was dead silent and then he finally heard it, her deep chuckle that seemed to come from her lower belly. That wonderful sound he had always considered as one of the best sounds of the world. Clarisse was laughing. Thank god, she was laughing.

"You hate pears?" she asked, her laughter getting louder, "Why in the world do you always eat them when you're here?"

"Because I can't exactly escape them, can I?" he chuckled, "Pears for appetizers, green ice with pear flavour, pears and grapes for desert…even your damned popcorn tastes like it!"

Again, tears were forming in Clarisse's eyes but this time it was from laughter, and Jack went along with it. It would take a while for her to get back on her feet but she would manage. And if he was allowed to, he would help her to get there.

With a snap, Jack was back in Central Park and he smiled at the beautiful woman next to him. It had taken him three years to see her again. In those three years the many phone calls and occasional letters had been his way to show her that she was on his mind a lot. He could only hope that she remembered him, them, the way there were at some time in life.

"So Amelia still has a lot to learn, but I think she has the makings of a Queen. I hope so, anyway."

He only nodded, not really listening to her story. Clarisse had let him in before, he could only hope she was ready to do it again. He sighed deeply. Maybe that night's dinner would make a difference.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello, we're back with an update! Thanks for the comments, they really help us to see if we're on the right track or not. We hope you'll comment again on the next chapter. Love, Janet and Martina._

---------

"I still say we should have waited outside. And why the hell am I wearing red? It's not even Christmas!"

Joseph rolled his eyes as Erin brushed some imaginary lint off her clothes. She had been this nervous all day and her anxiety didn't really help him to relax either. He had spent the day in true agony, constantly reviewing the events of the night before in his mind. He hadn't been prepared for a meeting with Clarisse, she had taken him completely by surprise at his apartment. It had all happened so quickly, before he knew it she had invited him for another meeting. He wasn't even sure how or why this dinner date had come about. It had all happened so quickly. With things so obviously awkward between them, why had she wanted another meeting – and why in such a public place? If he could have had it his way, he would have met up with her alone, in peace and silence, on his terms. But Clarisse had never been a person to wait for things to happen; she was very capable of changing almost every circumstance, a rare talent of hers.

And now he was sitting here, in one of the most exclusive restaurants of New York, dressed in his best suit and accompanied by his young colleague. Although he, again, wasn't too sure about sharing this moment with anyone, he couldn't help but being amused by the excited colour on Erin's cheeks. After all, dinner with Royalty isn't something that happens every day of the week.

"Is she coming alone?" Erin suddenly asked.

"A Queen is never alone," he muttered, unconsciously repeating one of Clarisse's lines when she was in desperate need for some privacy.

"You mean she'll have an army of security guards with her?" Erin grinned, picturing the scenario. "Will they be sitting at the table next to us, watching our every move and taping our conversation? Open fire at us when we make a wrong joke about royals?" She laughed out loud now. "Are you armed? We might end up in a gunfight!"

"The restaurant has been checked this afternoon and there will be several guards outside," he said, playing with his glass.

"Joe…"

"What?"

Erin rolled her eyes. "I'm kidding."

"Right," he hummed and then his head turned towards the entrance. He would always feel her presence no matter where he was. He didn't know whether it was the sudden rush of excitement of the waiters, the sudden presence of the restaurant manager or simply karma – he felt that the Queen had arrived. In fact, he was almost certain he could hear her unique voice already.

It didn't take her longer than thirty seconds to really make her appearance and Joseph had to swallow as he looked at her from his table. He had hoped she wouldn't look as dazzling as he remembered she always did on such occasions. He had prayed she would be somehow less than that breathtaking image he kept filed away in his memory. But no, she was gorgeous, simply gorgeous and he couldn't state otherwise.

Her evening gown was long and seemed to embrace her everlasting slim figure, falling loosely around her hips. At first he thought the fabric was black but as she turned, he caught the dark blue glow and a hint of sparkles that reflected the candlelight. Her necklace was subtle, a single diamond rested on her collarbone and her earrings glittered as she laughed about something the manager said to her. And then she turned her head towards the room of people, her sharp eyes resting on each and every guest there and her lips curving in a small smile. His breath slowly escaped through his lips. Clarisse, Queen of Genovia, didn't just enter a room. She owned it.

"And this is why I shouldn't have bothered…" he heard vaguely next to him but he couldn't find it in himself to glance at Erin, or offer her any sort of reassurance. He was staring at his Queen again, an old habit that would probably never, ever change. He was about to take a step forward when he saw her head turning backwards and she spoke to someone behind her. Joseph froze in his movements and narrowed his eyes, understanding what was going on even before his eyes had time to confirm it. A Queen is never alone, his own words echoed in his mind, and he couldn't have been more accurate. As if he had never been anywhere else, Sir Jack Bradford stepped forward and took his position next to Clarisse. He was wearing a black tuxedo, but a different one than that evening in the theatre, looking nothing but sophisticated.

"Wow…!" He heard Erin next to him again and this time he did look aside. Erin was standing, just like he was he realized, but to his confusion he couldn't recall getting up.

"What?" he asked, suddenly not willing to stare any longer at the perfect couple that was now slowly moving their way.

Erin inhaled sharply; she didn't pretend not to stare. "Is that security or her…" she started but interrupted herself as she smiled broadly. "Never mind," she hissed through clenched teeth, as she noticed the annoyed look on Joseph's face.

Slowly Joseph turned his head again, mentally preparing to meet her eyes again. And as he did, he felt his insides melt and he had to clear his voice in an attempt to get some grip. Beautiful wasn't the word to describe the woman who had now approached their table. But he couldn't think of a better one and he smiled briefly at the couple in front of him.

"Good evening Joseph, Erin." Her smile was polite and her voice soft but still well heard. If he didn't know her better, he would have thought that she was completely at ease. But the subtle signs that gave her away were unmistakable. The small tremble in her voice, the almost unnoticeable narrowing of her eyes, the way she swallowed as they kept staring at each other – she was just as nervous as he was. He could have stayed there forever but she broke the moment as she extended her hand at him. Clarisse was reaching out to him and he was standing there, still, frozen to the ground. It was a natural thing to do; yet he hesitated before he lowered his head and accepted her hand. His fingers closed around her hand, it felt warm, familiar and he felt the slight tremble in it as he placed a kiss upon it. He couldn't even call it a kiss; he merely brushed the soft skin and released her right away.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," he said. To his horror his voice sounded hoarse and unsteady. When he moved his stare away from Clarisse, he found Jack looking at him directly. He managed to force a smile on his lips.

Looking in Jack's direction, Clarisse quickly began the introductions. Her voice was formal, yet friendly. "Jack, I know you remember Joseph Romeiro. And this is his friend, Erin Johnson.

"Good evening, Sir Bradford. It's nice to see you again." Joseph nodded politely, shaking the hand of the man in front of him.

"Good evening, Joseph," Jack smiled, full of confidence as ever as he reached out to pat Joseph's shoulder. "It's good to see you, too. It's been too long. But please, 'Jack' will be just fine for tonight. And Erin, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Joseph wished he could hate the guy, he really did. He nodded, meanwhile noticing that Erin clearly had no idea how to respond to Clarisse. She was shaking the Queen's hand a little too enthusiastically and she muttered something about her necklace.

"It was a gift from my late husband," Clarisse said with a smile, secretly hating the fact that she felt sympathy for the young woman in front of her.

"It's gorgeous," Erin repeated. "And your dress is stunning!"

"Thank you. Shall we sit?" Clarisse asked, smiling gratefully at her dinner partner who already had pulled back a chair for her. Jack was always the gentleman and she sat down, feeling how his hand squeezed her shoulder before he moved to his own chair.

As the party around her took their seats as well, Clarisse inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly through her mouth. She had attended more dinners than she could count and she had dreaded many of them, yet this one topped them all. What had she possibly been thinking when she suggested this gathering? She didn't know what she could expect and that knowledge made her insecure, something she wasn't accustomed to.

Clarisse glanced at the young woman seated across from her. Erin was wearing a dark red dress, reaching not further than just below the knee. Her strong shoulders were bare and the small straps were tied together in her neck. Her hair was put up, casually and yet elegant with just a few hairpins and a simple, black hair band held her loose strands back. In her ears she wore small but very pretty golden earrings that moved along with her as she spoke. The lady breathed youth, beauty and strength, a dangerously attractive combination. She was a lovely girl. Clarisse couldn't help but wonder, with more than a hint of regret, how close she and Joseph actually were.

"Your favourite I assume, darling?" Jack pulled her out of her ponderings and Clarisse tore her eyes away from Erin and glanced aside.

"Please," she nodded and smiled at the waiter who was taking their cocktail orders.

"Joseph, can I interest you and your charming lady in a bottle of one of the greatest white Burgundies on the market?" Jack asked without taking his eyes off Clarisse. She was stunning, absolutely stunning this evening.

Joseph cleared his throat and as he responded, he felt Erin's surprised gaze resting on him. "I'm sorry but I'm not in the mood for _Bonneau du Martray Corton Charlemagne_, if that's where you're referring to."

Silence fell and Clarisse held her breath for a moment as her eyes caught Joseph's stare. He remembered. Of course he remembered.

"I'm impressed," Jack laughed good-naturedly. "So what are you in the mood for, good man?"

Joseph pressed his lips together. He could have said so much, but the truth was he didn't know what it was he wanted. Even a simple beverage was a hard decision with the confused way he was feeling now. "Just water would be fine for now, thank you," he eventually said, knowing instinctively that it would be is his own best interest if he stayed as sober as possible. His fingers closed around his empty glass and his fingerprints left a greasy stain on the crystal, giving away the sweat in his hands. This was going to be a long evening.

-------

"What do you think of those two?" Erin murmured in his ear as she slid down next to him at the table. One hand lingered on his shoulder as she silently admired his dark suit. The fabric was exclusive, smooth and rich in color and it made him look distinguished and world wise in a very unusual way.

Following her eyes to the sight of Jack and Clarisse among the dancing couples at the far end of the dimly lit room, Joseph nodded and gave her a small smile. Clarisse Renaldi was an exceptional dancer, in dance if nowhere else easily following a man's lead.

"I was just about to send out a search party. I suspected you got lost in the bathroom."

"I could as well have. That bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment. Here, smell." Erin grinned, holding up her left hand. "They actually have bottles of Dior soap and hand cream in there."

"Will I be forced to remind you that swiping them would be considered stealing, which is believe it or not against the law?" Joseph said, obligingly leaning forward to take in the exclusive scent. "Very nice."

"Don't worry. I would never do anything to get us kicked out of here. At least not on purpose. I am having way too much fun." She was telling the truth. This was a whole other world: genuine marble sinks in the bathroom, roses on pedestals in the hallways and meticulously polished silverware. She was keenly aware that she didn't fit in here in her semi designer, on sale dress and matching shoes bought at the local mall. But true to her nature, she had decided that this was a one-night adventure she would enjoy.

She slowly sipped the last of the white wine and tried to savor the taste for future reference. There really was a difference between a hundred dollar and a five-dollar bottle of wine. She took a closer look at the couple on the dance floor. She was sure it took years learning to dance in such a way that it looked completely effortless and easy.

"They really are a striking couple. Do you think they are lovers?"

"Erin!" He put down his glass which such force that some of the water spilled and left dark rings on the exclusive, white cloth. Taking no notice of his accusing stare Erin grinned broadly, offering him her napkin.

"What? I'm just asking!" she smiled, wickedly, amused by his shocked reaction. "I definitely think they are, anyway. He has been touching her all evening, not to mention the way her calls her 'darling'. It sounds so British, I love it."

"Don't be ridiculous. Just because…" Joseph stated forcefully but realized by Erin's amused smile that it was a lost cause. His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted back to the couple who were making a slow turn on the dance floor. She had that look on her face that he had seen countless times across a crowded ballroom. She had that look that made every man follow her with his eyes. A small smile was gracing her lips, Jack's hand lingering on her waist as they parted and the music faded. They were a striking couple, indeed. "It is none of our business," he said.

"You know something, don't you?" Erin eyed him teasingly. Watching the discussed couple make their way back to the table she leaned forward with a hand on Joseph's arm and whispered softly into his ear. "Don't worry, I will pry it out of you later."

-----------

"I think it might be time for some wine and cheese, don't you agree?" Jack smiled gallantly at them as he escorted Clarisse back to her seat. "This place is known for its exceptional desert cheeses."

Despite the fact that everybody had earlier attested to their inability to get down another bite, wine and cheese was unanimously agreed upon. A waiter appeared at their side as if out of nowhere the second Jack turned his head around in search for one.

Absentmindedly fingering her necklace, Clarisse tuned out the light conversation around her and contemplated the night's events. She had begun this evening thinking it could never have amounted to anything but disaster. Nervously sitting in her hotel room, torn between her delicate diamond necklace and her white pearls, she had thought they were all unwilling passengers on board the Titanic of horrific evenings. She couldn't help but imagine them all sailing steadfastly towards an iceberg of unspoken disapproval, assumptions and awkwardness. There were no lifeboats, no escape; no way to avoid what was to come. She had been so sure of impending disaster that she hadn't even registered at first that she had started to enjoy herself.

They had eaten their way through the main course with polite small talk, the conversation drifting from one neutral topic to another; the food, the warm weather for the season, the décor of the restaurant. She couldn't pinpoint the moment the tension had lifted and her difficulty swallowing her dinner had subsided, but by the time she had cleared her plate her stomach was completely at ease and her smile genuine.

Now waiting for desert to arrive, she again studied the woman across from her. She reluctantly admitted to herself that Erin and Joseph might be a good match. She had tried to dissect Erin in the warm glow of the candlelight, unearth some flaw in her character that would make it more bearable to imagine her in Joseph's arms. Truth was that she couldn't help but like her. Erin was a force of nature, strong, witty and beautiful in an intelligent and capable way that surpassed the traditional meaning of the word.

She didn't know why she was surprised. Joseph would never be with anyone less than himself; he wasn't a man to settle. Seeing him and Erin together she knew that he had always needed more than she could ever offer him. He deserved security and companionship without any forced labels, the possibility to simply be together. No politics, no discussions. No right or wrong. She could never have offered him that.

"You must forgive me for asking, Your Majesty, but I'm curious," Erin started, pausing just long enough to catch the warning glance from the man next to her. "..but I have always wondered what it is exactly that a Queen does." She could practically see the relief on Joseph's face, his fork that had paused mid air now returned to the desert platter.

"Oh dear, what a question!" Clarisse laughed in surprise. Erin's question to her had somehow filtered through her silent thoughts the moment before. "I can't believe nobody has ever asked me that before."

She hesitated for a moment, contemplating her answer. The question could be perceived as sarcastic, implying that in reality she did nothing but sit on a throne and eat cakes, but Erin stared back at her with nothing but genuine curiosity reflected in her eyes, waiting patiently for her reply. There was nothing calculating or mean spirited about her and Clarisse momentarily felt guilty for even thinking it.

"Well…I guess first and foremost for many years… I was a wife and mother." she started, smiling softly. "Being the queen certain things were expected of you of course. Every day of your life you represent your country, your King and the values the Royal Family wishes to uphold."

"It must have been hard living a normal family life in the midst of all that." Erin said, hoping she wouldn't offend the Queen by prying so deeply into her personal life. But she was fascinated by the life this lady had led. She couldn't even being to imagine all the things she must have seen and done, the people she had met and the things she knew.

Some of it you could read in her face, she had a silent strength and character to her features that spoke of a woman who had weathered many storms in her life and come out of them stronger. That wasn't all though; now and then there was a hint of something else in her eyes that went deeper than the graceful kindness and wit that first captivated you. Erin found herself longing to know what it was.

"It was at times. Your life is on display in a way that would frighten you to death if you stopped to think about it for too long. But we tried our best to keep our family life private, and to be together. When Rupert traveled, the boys and I joined him as often as we could. We always spent a month together by the sea in the summer. That was our real family time. No work, no obligations, just peace and quiet."

Joseph couldn't help but chuckle heartily. "Is that how you remember it? Peace and quiet?"

They were the first words he had uttered directly to her all evening that sounded like the Joseph she knew. Finally gone was the polite but impersonal man she didn't know how to talk to beyond the obvious pleasantries. On his face now was that familiar, amused smile, his dark eyes meeting hers, raising a questioning brow. "Your summer vacations can be described in many ways. Peace and quiet, I believe, is not one of them. "

It was impossible not to smile. He was right of course. For one month every year, none of them had to worry about what anybody thought or how you were supposed to behave. Rupert had spent the days fishing, although he in twenty years failed to catch one single fish. The boys had been allowed to do everything that normal kids did every day. They ran around with no shoes on, threw water balloons from the balcony, fished for crabs, built sandcastles and played Indian and cowboy for days at end, driving everybody insane with their war cries.

"The boys may have been a bit unruly," Clarisse admitted with a small chuckle. "But honestly it wasn't that bad."

"This from the woman who I found tied to a tree because the great Indian Chief Running Bear had taken her captive. And then ran of to steal some cookies in the kitchen without remembering to untie his mother."

"Once, Joseph! That happened once! And besides, I had promised I would play along." Clarisse raised a brow at him in mock warning but there was laughter in her voice and her eyes sparkled. "But I admit that after one hour tied to that godforsaken tree I was quite grateful to be released. I don't believe that allowing yourself to be tied to a tree is something a Queen should do."

They all laughed at that and Clarisse sipped her wine, for the second time that evening marveling at the fact that she was actually enjoying herself. And more than that, wishing that the evening wouldn't soon come to an end.

"It sounds wonderful," Erin said, grinning at the image of this very elegant lady being willingly tied to a tree by a small Indian. "How many children do you have?"

The silence was sudden and absolute, the laughter subsiding as both Joseph and Jack looked at her, waiting. She should have gotten used to talking about it by now but somehow her voice always failed her, the words to explain escaping her every time.

"I have two sons." Clarisse finally said quietly but steadily, not the slightest trace of a tremble in her voice as she stared down into her wineglass. "But my oldest son was killed in a car accident a few years ago."

"Oh I am so sorry!" Erin gasped. "I didn't mean to…" Erin started to apologize franticly but trailed off, not knowing what she could possibly say to convey how mortified she was. Joseph didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on some point just behind the Queens head, staring blankly into space. "I had no idea…"

"That's quite all right dear, really." Clarisse looked up to meet Erin's eyes, smiling at her sadly, but reassuringly. "Sometimes I forget that you Americans aren't as well read up on all the European royalty as we are ourselves. You couldn't have known."

The silence that stretched out between the four of them was awkward, and Joseph felt the familiar sting of self-loathing that he was unable to do anything to make the situation more bearable. He had stopped counting the times since the accident that she had needed him to be there, to be her shield against curious questions and kind condolences. There were times she had needed him to shield her even from herself, and every time he had failed. Times when just a hand on her back to let her know that he was there would have made the words come more easily, and the painful moment of longing and regret shorter. Every time he had failed.

He wasn't certain if it was with regret or with the relief that he watched Jack take action and do what he wished he could have.

"They are playing my favourite song, and I do believe you owe me another dance before we put an end to this delightful evening." Jack rose to his feet and held out a hand to Clarisse as the first notes of _'Some Enchanted Evening' _drifted towards them.

'Oh, thank God' Clarisse thought, smiling up at him, eternally grateful to him for saving the situation with such ease and charm that all she had to was follow. Letting him help her out of her chair, she slipped her hand into his strong, secure one and squeezed it lightly in a silent thank you. "I would be delighted."

"Excuse me Sir Bradford, there is a phone call for you in the sitting room."

The waiter appeared discreetly at their side with a small note in his hand and Jack paused, excusing himself to read it before he turned to the rest of the company with a regretful smile.

"I am afraid I have to accept this call. I would hate to cheat a lady out of a dance, especially when it is you darling. Joseph, would you please have this dance with Clarisse?

"Certainly." Startled, Joseph directed the comment to Jack not to her, his voice courteous and friendly, but his hesitation was obvious.

Jack turned toward Erin and smiled apologetically. "Erin, I hope you don't mind if I ask your date to help me out a bit here? I'm afraid duty calls at an inopportune moment."

"No, of course not! Joseph, please dance with her." Erin silently breathed a sigh of relief. She was actually grateful for a few minutes alone to try and regain her composure after the awkward moment caused by her unknowing remark minutes earlier.

Silently Joseph turned his attention to Clarisse and offered her his arm, escorting her towards the dance floor.

"Joseph…I'm fine. Please, there is no need to…" Clarisse protested weakly but let herself be led. She was torn between the uncomfortable feeling that he felt somewhat forced to have this dance with her and the small tingle she felt at the prospect of dancing with him again. It was such a gift to dance with a man without having to think, not having to concentrate on what the next step might be. Good dancing should always look that effortless and free, but it was only with Joseph she felt like she was truly floating across the dance floor.

"Let's just…dance," he offered in a low voice. He turned around to face her and placed his right hand around her, gently drawing her a bit closer. His face was blank as ever but his eyes were soft, asking her to accept his offering. "I think we can manage."

She nodded her head, silently stepping closer and entwining her hand with his. Neither of them spoke as they moved slowly across the dance floor, finding their rhythm. It felt strange feeling her hand enveloped in his this way again, his arm around her back guiding her. She had forgotten what it felt like, and yet knew it as if it was yesterday all at the same time.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I haven't told Erin very much about…" he trailed off, trying to avoid looking her in the eyes, instead focusing on her tense mouth. "I'm sorry."

"I like Erin." Clarisse stated a little too abruptly, as if she wanted to lay it all on the table. She could sense his pause, his arm around her back tensing and she immediately regretted her candor. She wanted to know some small part of his life again, even if it meant knowing more about the beauty waiting for him at their table. She wanted to have some part of it all, even if it was just as an old acquaintance. "She is a very lovely girl."

"Do you still go to the beach house every summer?" Joseph changed the subject swiftly as he guided them in a slow turn, easily sidestepping the other couples on the dance floor. It felt acutely uncomfortable hearing Clarisse talk about Erin, like two worlds were colliding with possibly disastrous repercussions. He wasn't able to explain the choices he had made in his life here, at least not yet.

"No I don't," Clarisse answered in a low voice, bowing her head so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes as he ignored her question, rejecting her attempt to know him better. "It's not the same anymore."

He didn't ask what she meant by that, maybe he didn't have to.

She had boarded up the house the summer he left and she had no intention to ever go back. There was no point in returning and soiling the good memories that belonged there. That house held nothing but old ghosts now, living and dead. To revisit them was more than she could bear.

They danced in silence, the words not being said only seeming to widen the gap of the years that had passed. That thought made her heart sink, the gnawing feeling that there were things she wanted to know, deserved to know, before they parted tonight only growing stronger. She tried to ignore it, closing her eyes and letting the music carry her.

_Some enchanted evening_

_Someone may be laughin',_

_You may hear her laughin'_

_Across a crowded room_

_And night after night,_

_As strange as it seems_

_The sound of her laughter_

_Will sing in your dreams._

She couldn't do it, as hauntingly beautiful as the music was, as much as she wanted this to be just a dance between old friends. She couldn't pretend that this was just like old times, that she could enjoy being there in his arms and not think of the pain he had caused her. She deserved more than that, even if she trembled inside with fear of what his answer might be.

"Joseph… I'd like to know. Please, I...I need to know. You knew I was coming here. Why didn't you want to see me? Why didn't you write to me? Not even once?"

It took her a moment to realize that her question wasn't the reason he stopped dancing. He let his hand fall away from its place on her back and then she caught Jack's sudden reappearance at their side. Her eyes searched Joseph's face, pleading for some sort of reaction but she could read nothing in his eyes.

"Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty. I think your date would like you returned to him."

He stepped away from her without as much as a glance at her face, her hand slipping out of his. She stared at him in disbelief. She was only partially aware of Jack taking Joseph's place, effortlessly picking up where the dance so abruptly had come to a halt.

"I am sorry, darling. Forgive me? That was my London office."

Clarisse could only smile weakly at him, for the second time that evening closing her eyes and trying to get lost in the music.

_Some enchanted evening_

_When you find your true love,_

_When you feel her call you_

_Across a crowded room,_

_Then fly to her side,_

_And make her your own_

_Or all through your life you_

_May dream all alone._

_------_

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello, here's the next chapter. Thank you so much for commenting and we're working hard on the next chapter. It might take a while before we update but we're doing the best we can! We're always grateful for reviews because that way we know if we're on the right track or not. Well, enjoy!_

_Love, Janet and Martina._

--------

The low buzzing of the limo's engine had caused her to feel a bit drowsy and dizzy and she fought back a yawn as she stepped into the elevator of her hotel. She shouldn't have bothered to try and hide it, she realized, when she heard Jack's chuckle as he came to stand next to her. She smiled up at him in response.

"Tired darling?" he asked, softly squeezing her shoulder. "Not used to being out this late?"

"Oh tush," she sighed, glancing upwards to follow the numbers of the floors they passed. "You know me better than that."

"I thought I did," he said with a small smile, "but you always manage to surprise me."

She blinked in confusion. "Meaning?" she asked, hoping he wasn't referring to the past evening. Part of her exhaustion now was caused by the constant effort required tonight to maintain the charade that nothing was bothering her, that everything was perfectly normal, that her life and emotions were under control. 

"Nothing in particular, it's just hard to read you sometimes," Jack answered. He wasn't completely honest though, truth was that he had been wondering about her sudden mood swing at the end of the evening. Their dinner had been relaxed and cheerful, but somewhere, near the end, something had changed inside her. It had been subtle but he had read the signs rather clearly, yet he had decided not to press her on it. If he knew Clarisse as he thought he did, she would come out with it if she wanted to.

His hand was still on her shoulder, softly massaging her skin. His touch was warm and comforting, and she couldn't help but relax a bit as they rode the rest of the way in silence. Finally, the elevator door opened to reveal the Royal Suite.

As they stepped out, she inhaled deeply and immediately moved forward in the direction of the window, opening it without hesitation. "No air conditioner can beat fresh air," she said over her shoulder.

"Fresh air in New York City?" Jack laughed, "Now there's a challenge!"

She turned to meet his amused gaze and chuckled along with him, leaning against the window sill. As their laughter subsided, Clarisse cleared her throat. "So, can I interest you in a nightcap, Sir Bradford?"

"That would be very pleasant, _Your Majesty_," Jack smiled as he gestured at the dark green sofa that stood in the centre of the room, "But let me serve you instead. Take a seat. Please."

She held back an amused smile as she obeyed his wishes and sat down on the sofa, resting her back against the soft cushions. Leaning down, she pulled off one shoe and massaged her painful toes. "These things are lethal weapons!" she groaned as she kicked out the other one as well. She didn't care if it was appropriate or not, she only wanted to feel relief from the pain and if Jack had to be the one to witness it, so be it.

"Next time wear slippers darling," Jack chuckled as he poured two glasses of brandy. "It might set a trend!"

She laughed softly and sat back when Jack approached the couch, accepting her glass with a smile. "Thank you."

"You want to put your feet up?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

She only shook her head in response and lifted her glass to him. "So what shall we toast to, Jack? Let's think of something wonderful." 

"To your everlasting beauty," he said with his low voice and she could only smile at him. He had always been and would always be the perfect gentleman. 

For a moment it was silent while they took their first sip, enjoying the burning flavour of the golden fluid. Clarisse hummed in approval. "Nice…" she said, resting her head to the back of the sofa.

"It was a pleasant evening," Jack said, using his free hand to unfasten the buttons on his shirt collar. He sat back with a deep sigh. 

She nodded although she certainly had no desire to go over the events of the evening now. Everything about the evening was a bit blurry, a bit faded out and she needed time alone to grasp what exactly had happened. It was strange though, the one thing she did grasp very clearly was that even though it had been hard to see Joseph with another woman, it had also made something clear to her. It was time to move on. Finally.

"He's a good guy, Joseph," Jack said, glancing aside to look at her, "And his girlfriend is utterly charming, isn't she?"

Clarisse almost choked on her brandy. Girlfriend. She inhaled deeply; yes Erin could be Joseph's girlfriend but hearing it said out loud was oddly unsettling to her.

"Can we talk about something else?" she said, and apparently her voice sounded like an invitation because Jack smiled at her in an amused way.

"Certainly, what do you want to talk about?" he asked, and leaned his head backwards against the couch. His tone was soft, hoarse, perhaps even lazy and it set an intimate atmosphere.

She couldn't help but hold her breath; he was very close to her now. Closer than she was accustomed to. He was acting freely, relaxed and yet she felt the tension between them building steadily. In her mind she tried to compare the situation to pillow talk with a friend. Comforting, intimate and innocent. She shook her head, ignoring the thoughts that seemed to well up as if from nowhere. "In a few days I'll return home," she finally said softly. She didn't know why she said it or what she was expecting him to say or do in response, but suddenly she felt the need to express it. She felt the need to change the circumstances, in fact. "Back to business I guess." The sound of regret in her voice was obvious.

He sighed, and then he looked away. Suddenly she felt his hand on top of hers, squeezing it slightly. He stared down at her palm in his as though he wanted to kiss it. "Did you have a good time this week, Clarisse?"

She nodded her head in affirmation, momentarily closing her eyes. "Thank you."

"Thank me for what?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"Oh…" she sighed, opening her eyes again. Somehow, not her doing, his thigh lay by hers, not really touching but it felt warm and solid even through two layers of cloth. He was close enough that she could feel his slow breathing, smell his spicy cologne. "For being such a good friend. For always being there for me. For…," she paused and swallowed, "…for making me feel that I'm still alive."

He took a sip from his brandy but didn't take his eyes away from her. He couldn't resist looking at her, being so close to her. He had stared into her eyes so many times but never had she looked at him like this. He wasn't sure, couldn't put his finger on it really, but she looked at him as if she saw someone new. He took a deep breath before he gathered enough courage to say what he had wanted to say ever since he picked her up at the airport. No, ever since he met her really. "Clarisse…" He stopped himself, reaching out to take her glass away from her.

She inhaled sharply, feeling how her heartbeat slowly increased in rate as he sat back and met her gaze again. His eyes were calm and dark, yet she saw the hint of nervousness hiding in there.

"Clarisse, I don't want you to return home. Not like…this. Not without…"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He sighed deeply and couldn't hold back a smile, a shy one at that. "Isn't it obvious?"

He gently took her hand into his again, and she felt the heat of his body radiating on her skin. She looked down at their entwined fingers, feeling how he softly squeezed her palm, his thumb rubbing her hand. In the few seconds she wasn't looking at Jack, a million thoughts ran through her head. She didn't want to listen to most of them, all she wanted to feel was that she was right. She had to move on, it was time to make a choice, it was time to...forget. She inhaled deeply, breathing out through her pursed lips. It was time to feel better. And she had come to realize that the man next to her had never caused her to feel worse. Suddenly it became clear, the answer was right beside her.

Slowly, she lifted her head to meet his eyes again.

"Why don't you show me?" she whispered, her breath high in her chest.

His smile grew, his eyes narrowed, and then, after one last glance in each other's eyes, it was only a matter of seconds before he leaned in closer. Meeting him halfway, she allowed him to place his lips against hers. He was soft, gentle, and careful, and his arms went around her, pulling her a little closer. Slowly, as if her hands were moving without permission, her fingers came up to find their way on Jack's cheeks. She framed his face, feeling how his beard tickled under her trembling fingers. Her thumbs stroked his skin as her lips slowly increased the pressure. She heard his sigh of approval and gave into it, slowly relaxing under his touch. He was sweet, oh so sweet. Leaning back into the couch, she felt the pressure of his body leaning against hers and slowly, their kiss became more urgent and passionate.

"God, you're beautiful," Jack murmured as he pulled away to get air, placing little kisses against her soft, moist lips. She was breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking. "Clarisse, I…"

She shook her head when he was about to say more and pulled him closer again, burying her face in his neck as he kissed the delicate skin of her shoulder. She shivered as she felt his warm breath on her skin. She leaned her head backwards and she moaned softly, realizing it was the first moment of spontaneous sensuality she'd felt since…since…

She froze.

"Clarisse?" Jack pulled away from her with alarm, searching her eyes.

"Oh God…" She couldn't let him read her emotions and she hid her burning cheeks behind her trembling fingers. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Within seconds she had gotten up and left the couch, her entire body trembling. She folded her arms around her own waist, as if to protect herself. She turned to face him, her frightened eyes betraying her confusion. With all her strength she managed to put a small smile on her face.

"Jack, it's been such a lovely evening, but I'm just suddenly so tired. I'm very sorry, but maybe it would be best for you to go." 

He got up from the couch, his face full of concern. "Darling, I never meant to push…"

She raised her hand to stop him. "I know, and you didn't. Believe me, Jack, you didn't."

He frowned, clearly confused at her words. "Was it too soon? I thought that…"

"No," she shook her head. "It wasn't too soon at all. I wanted it too, I wanted…." She pressed her lips together. Oh, she meant what she was saying and yet she felt this knot in her stomach that seemed to grow at every word she uttered.

"What is it you want Clarisse? I can't give it to you unless you tell me," Jack said softly, walking towards her.

Avoiding his eyes, she hugged herself tighter. God she hated herself. How could she tell him when she didn't even know herself? It took her a few seconds to regain her composure, forcing herself to think. Finally she sighed deeply and walked towards him, smiling briefly as if she was trying to comfort him. She reached out to stroke his tensed upper arm. "You're a wonderful man, Jack Bradford. I think maybe I just need a little time to get used to…" she gestured in the direction of the couch, "…that."

He shook his head carefully, as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Clarisse, if you're not ready I completely understand."

Her smile was sad and then, after slight hesitation, her hand came up to stroke his face. "You're a dear. I'm grateful that you understand," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "Because I'm afraid I don't understand it myself." 

Silence fell between them and as she released Jack's face, Clarisse sighed deeply, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. Had she watched this scene in a movie, she would have yelled at the motionless woman to get her act together. Yet she couldn't find the words nor the strength, to break the silence.

Then, slowly, his hands came up to frame her warm cheeks. "You're worth the wait, Clarisse, we take it one step at a time. No pressure, I promise."

With that he gently placed a kiss on her forehead and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. When she opened them again, the door fell closed behind him.

---------------

His apartment was dark, dusky, and a cool wind blew through the open windows. Even so, his body was covered in sweat and his head turned restlessly back and forth on his pillow.

_"You have to tell her Joe. Tonight, if possible."_

He shook his head fiercely, groaning softly. _"I'm on duty." _

That crooked smile, the amused eyes that looked at him from aside. _"Perhaps it's time to consider the duty you have to yourself?" _

"Please, no…" His sweaty palms came up to cover his eyes, spreading the wetness on his cheeks. _"It's not my place."_

His head moved faster on his pillow, as if was denying something with all his strength.

Then, the warm hand on his shoulder, the kind, understanding eyes staring at him._ "Trust me on this one…what's the worst that can happen?"_

"Watch out…" He mumbled it, the words were barely audible in the empty bedroom but he felt like he was screaming it.

Blinding light, the shattering sound of metal collapsing, glass covering him like a violent rain storm. He never even saw it coming.

"NO!"

With a scream Joseph woke up, his heart pounding in his chest, his body shaking uncontrollably. His hands came up to cover his face, a useless attempt to block the images that unfolded behind his closed eyes. Three years it had been, and still the memory was as vivid and alive as ever. He shook his head, once, twice, constantly. If only he had been able to focus. If only he had been doing his job. But he hadn't. He couldn't.

His breath was high in his chest as he got up from the mess that was his bed and stumbled into the bathroom. There, he switched on the light and blinked a few times, glancing at his watch that was lying on the sink. Four thirty in the morning. It had been fifty-five hours since he'd said goodbye to her again. Two years, two months and twenty-seven days since he'd kissed her for the very last time. Only two hours since he'd been staring at her framed picture. He was trying to think in numbers again, sticking to the facts, not willing to think about what was lying just underneath the surface. But, once again, his dreams had forced him to.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face, not bothering to wipe it away but letting it drip on his shoulders. His bare arms leaned on the sink and his white T-shirt slowly turned grey by the countless little drops of water. Slowly he lifted his head, his cheeks were warm, too warm and he blinked as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Between the cold stream of water, the cold sweat was still on his forehead like tiny pearls.

There he was. Joseph Romeiro. Age 64. Senior Advisor in Public Safety for the New York Police Department. He used to be strong, in charge, in control of everything. But within a matter of two days he had turned into a shadow of the man he used to be. His body was no longer listening to his demands, his muscles refused to obey his needs. His heart refused to listen to his mind any longer. He shook his head. It kept coming back, she kept coming back.

"I did it for you, for you," he whispered to his own reflection. His hands gripped the cold stone of his sink. "For you…"

He pushed himself away from the mirror and walked into his living room again, falling down on his couch with a frustrated groan. When would he ever be able to sleep normally? When would he finally manage to get the mental images out of his head? When would he finally be able to get past this? He covered his eyes with both hands.

He had watched her, from a distance. He had seen her pain, her grief, her broken posture. He had been there all along, and he couldn't even let her know. He'd heard her sobbing that night in the garden, he'd seen how alone she was, he'd been close enough to see the tears falling. Yet he wasn't with her. He knew he couldn't offer her the support she needed so desperately, but seeing her that night after the funeral had been torture. He had tried to take a step forward, he was forcing himself to move – but suddenly, without any warning, Jack had appeared. She had found shelter in the arms of one of her best friends in the world. And as Joseph was watching them, he almost felt gratitude towards the man who was holding the woman who meant more to him than anything. He even managed to make her laugh. 

And that was it. She would never have to know how much he loved her. She would never have to know that her head of security fell asleep at night with her image in his head. If he could find a way to separate his mind from his heart, maybe that way, he would be able to continue to work for her. He couldn't leave her in a rocky time like this, so soon after her son had passed away. He would be there to do his job and nothing but his job, he would make sure she was safe and protected. It was all she needed him for, after all.

And it had worked. For about a year or so. Then, slowly, things had changed between them. And now he was sitting here, in his cold apartment in New York City. Haunted by images that he couldn't get rid of, chased by memories that rocked his entire world.

He sighed deeply as he got up and walked towards the open window. As he let the wind cool his face, he caught his reflection in the window pane. He shook his head. There he was. Joseph Romeiro, age 64. He used to be fearless. He was still searching for something he would never, ever find. Unless he could find the courage to face the one thing that scared him beyond anything. 

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter 8

Ahem

_Hello everybody! Sorry it took us so long to update, but I gave birth to a baby girl and Martina's health wasn't all that -- things got a bit messed up at home as you can imagine. But we're back on track! So, we managed to write the next chapter and we hope that you'll be willing to read it. Last time we left our beloved couple in NYC -- Joseph was ready to face his fears and Clarisse was practically singing the song "torn between two lovers". Are you ready to return to the city that never sleeps? _

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror stared calmly back at her, bright blue eyes meeting hers with a quiet confidence that seemed to be in direct conflict with the storm, howling like an discontented spirit inside of her. Maybe that's what it was; an accumulation of thoughts, smells and memories that refused to go to rest. Perhaps it was an angry ghost raging against the forces that threatened to take its place. Or was it?

Raising a hand to her hair, she slowly combed her fingers through the blond strands, watching as it fell back into its place the same way as it always did, soft and manageable from the sweet smelling balsam she had used. She had spent an unnecessarily long time in the bath, refilling the tub with hot water three times; ignoring the four still unpacked suitcases sitting on her bed. For the better part of the late afternoon her whole world had shrunk down to nothing more than her rose smelling bath oil, the tiny cans of exclusive traveling wash, peeling, and shampoo. Shamelessly treating herself to a soothing facemask, moisturizer and carefully applied makeup she had almost convinced herself that she had found her inner peace. Well she hadn't. But at least the self-indulgence had presented her with a, if not calmer, at least more beautiful self.

The end result, her image in the mirror told her, was quite compelling. Her skin seemed fresh and radiant, the natural, fresh scrubbed blush on her cheekbones becoming her, as did the light, but meticulously applied makeup. Perfection. She needed that tonight.

Her wardrobe for the evening had been subjected to the same level of scrutiny. Her outfit had been carefully selected from the bedroom closet to find just the right balance between elegant evening attire and conservative business wear; her mind refusing to make a decision in either direction.

The ensemble she finally chose was a deep burgundy red. It was a dramatic color for her, no doubt, considering her otherwise modest pastel wardrobe, but it seemed to complement her state of mind this evening. The fabric itself was gloriously smooth, the slim pencil skirt and short jacket seeming even richer in colour in contrast with the soft cream collared blouse she had picked out to go with it. Dazzling, she mused….but for what?

Just hours from now Jack would pick her up and take her out for a private, very unofficial farewell dinner. Their relationship seemed to be moving toward a perfect movie-type moment where everything would fall into place, for all to be revealed and all questions to be answered. But what kind of movie farewell was this? What role would she play? She rehearsed every possible line in her head, struggling to find one that would roll off her lips with ease. Because the question would come up, she knew it would. If not in actual words, he would surely glance at her across the table and the question would be there in his eyes, pleading for an answer. How would she play this?

"_Jack this all came so suddenly…"_ No, that would be a lie. What ever you called the attraction simmering between her and Jack it had always been there, lurking. In a way it had always been like playing with fire, but she had enjoyed it, knowing that there just wasn't enough kindling for the fire to build and grow. Now she wasn't sure, so many things had changed and all off the sudden it wasn't just innocent flirting. It could be something more, so much more, if she wanted it to.

"_Jack, please come visit me in Genovia. There we could…"_ Could what? Have a hot and torrent love affair that would safely end when he returned home? On her terms? Or would she just be buying herself some time, stringing him along until she was able to make a decision?

"_Come home with me to Genovia, Jack. Stay for a while. I want you to…"_ Now that would be a definite decision, one that would be hard to take back, a statement to him and to anybody who might be paying attention. That sentiment alone made her stomach clench with fear. No, such a stand implied that there were feelings beyond pure attraction. Something more long lasting and real. Could she honestly say that there was?

"_Jack, I do have feelings for you but…"_ But what? But let's wait? Let's not ? And why not? The ghost inside of her made itself heard again, screaming furiously, twisting and turning, squeezing her heart. She sighed, she knew exactly why not.

Dear God, this was hard. Jack Bradford was everything she could ever dream of, if she ever considered getting into a relationship again. He was the kind of a man people would accept, worthy of a queen, a force to be reckoned with all on his own. An English lord for God's sake! Could it get any better? He was charming, good-looking, and smart, he knew the world she lived in and how to live in it. He wouldn't hurt her and she certainly wouldn't lack passion in her life. Lord knows she had gone without that for longer than she cared to admit. He was the perfect match.

Shaking her head at the perfectly composed woman in the mirror, she closed the zipper on her makeup bag and walked out of the room, murmuring low to herself. "Right…packing."

Letting her eyes slowly travel across the very tastefully decorated bedroom, practically every inch of which was currently covered with her unpacked wardrobe, she realized she could have let somebody else pack her things for her. It was one of those things that a queen, if she preferred not to, would never need to worry about. She was however, deeply opposed to the idea of some faceless person with eager hands rummaging through her belongings, touching the things she loved with a little more interest than needed. She always packed herself. The only trouble was that at the moment her packing was about as unorganized as a typical junkyard. The beautifully embroidered bedspread was barely visible under the heap of clothes, purses and scarves on her bed. The bedside table was cluttered with unread paperback books that she had brought knowing she would never get to reading them, as well as papers, a pair of glasses and a couple of magazine.

"Clarisse, you are a damned fool." Clarisse sighed deeply, lifting up a knitted white scarf between her thumb and her forefinger, studying the garment. One didn't get to be her age without acquiring a fair amount of self-knowledge. She was painfully aware, if she just allowed herself to admit it, that she had unconsciously been avoiding packing all day, if anything doing her best to make the process even harder. Packing meant owning up to the fact that she would be returning home, leaving many things unresolved. She knew that doing so she would return home less happy than she had left it. Something would be missing. Peace. Contentment. Joy. For heavens sake she told herself angrily, get packing, get it done and over with. Accept it and move on. You know how to do that.

And so she did. With an energy she had seemed to be lacking just an hour ago, she blew across the room like a determined whirlwind, organizing piles, fetching papers from the living room, filling the wastebasket with what she wouldn't take with her. That's how you do it. That is how you survive. You just get on with it.

She had just gotten into a good rhythm; fast and effectively placing a few books on top of neatly folded clothes in her small suitcase, when the phone rang. Sighing deeply she flicked her wrist and closed the lid of the suitcase, reaching for the phone.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, your Majesty." Shade's serious and somewhat apologetic voice reached her ear. Too well taught to actually sigh upon hearing his voice, she simply paused, waiting to hear what he had to say. "I know we scheduled a meeting tomorrow morning, your Majesty, but something has come to my attention that needs to be addressed. Tonight, if possible."

That damned polite man. Not once could he straight out tell her what it was that needed to be discussed! Always these vague requests that drove her insane wondering if this sudden "problem" was simply a case of an overbooking in the restaurant she had chosen or a possible terror alert.

"Could this possibly wait until tomorrow?" She didn't want to sound difficult, but the piles surrounding her were evidence enough that she should leave tomorrow's headache to tomorrow. Besides…Jack would be here in less than an hour, and with these matters one could never really know if it would take five minutes or fifty.

"I am afraid not, your Majesty. Tomorrow would be too late."

There it was. There was nothing to do but to admit defeat and reluctantly tell Shades to come in. The mere fact that this must be something very important, very likely a problem, made her voice sound a little more irritated than she had intended, and she found herself forced to add a somewhat kinder 'thank you' before she hung up the phone and resumed her packing.

By the time the expected knock on the door sounded, she had already found an aspirin in her small travel medicine bag in anticipation of the headache that would surely present itself before she was through here.

Automatically calling Shades in, she swiftly made her way back to the living room, picking up stray papers as she went. She couldn't in good conscious leave all this to housekeeping, no matter how generous of a tip she would bestow upon them at her departure.

"I will be with you in just a moment," Clarisse called, as she heard the door open at the far end of the room. She swiftly ran her fingers through the heap of letters, invitation and various drawings from local schools that had arrived at the hotel in a never-ending stream since she arrived. They had inevitably ended up in a pile on her coffee table. "It seems I get more letters when on holiday than I do back home in a month. Now what can I do…" She stopped mid sentence, the papers slipping through her fingers and scattering over the frosted glass table.

"Shades asks you to please not behead him for this. I called in a favor."

For a second she almost took him for a figment of her imagination, her mind playing a cruel trick on her. If she just blinked, she would find Shades standing there looking at her. But they weren't Shade's eyes that met hers. They were Joseph's. The slight humor in his words matched neither his expression nor his tone. Joseph.

No! He couldn't be here, she didn't want him here! The panic came creeping in along with the anger and humiliation. Her heart pounded, one thought echoing in her head: get him out of here. Now! I can't do this.

She somehow found the ability to speak. "I am afraid I don't have time for this." She didn't know how, but she remained calm, collected, not allowing the emotions building inside of her to break through as she looked away from him. The memory of what it had felt like being left standing on a crowded dance floor a few evenings ago with her heart shattered into a million pieces was still vivid, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to let it shine through. She would never let him know how much that had hurt. She knew that if she gave into the anger, even just a little, he would be able to read it in her voice. "Please leave."

Beyond getting there, and convincing Shades to let him come up to her suite, Joseph was at a loss for what to do next. That fact became painfully obvious to him as she stood before him, polite and cold as ice, prepared to send him on his way even before he had a chance to close the door behind him. She didn't look at him, didn't pause to see if he obeyed her command. She simply went on with what she was doing, silently telling him that she expected him to be gone when she turned her head.

Cautiously regarding her, he didn't protest. He hoped that by simply remaining were he was, she would be forced to acknowledge him, even if what she had to say wouldn't be pleasant. He didn't expect it to be.

He didn't leave; he didn't do anything at all. He just stood there, waiting. She felt her entire body tense, her shoulders squaring, her jaw clenching, preparing for battle. She could, ironic as it was, call security and have him removed. There was no way to forgive what had transpired between them these last few days. In a dark and revengeful place deep inside of her, she wanted him to be as humiliated as she had been, but somehow her hand wouldn't reach for the phone. Her pride was at stake. She was better than this.

"What are you doing here?"

It wasn't a question that invited him in, one that encouraged truth telling and reconciliation. It was defensive, hard, ready to strike him down. It was the small break in her armour he had been hoping for and he took the leap.

"I think I owe you an explanation."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than that Joseph." The shock in Clarisse's eyes was quickly replaced with fire. "But it's too late!" Her anger broke through, and once unleashed there was nothing she could do to control it. It flooded over; every dream inside her soul, every moment in the years that had passed that she wished he had been there, every hope and every thought of what once could have been coming together. It was anger like she had never felt before running through her veins, erasing everything else. Fixing her eyes on him, lethal and full of rage, she moved toward the door, her shaking hand landing on the doorknob and gripping it so hard that her knuckles were turning white. "Get out! Get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"Clarisse..." He moved towards her, seeing the warning in her eyes but refusing to accept it. He refused to be sent away like this, having finally gathered the courage to confront her. She could hate him if she wanted to, she could even strike him if she needed, he didn't care. He had never before, in any way, invaded her personal space without her consent but he knew her and knew that right now it was the only way to force her to listen to him.

She stood her ground, staring back at him with eyes full of fire as his hands gripped her upper arms strongly. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to fight him. She had never been afraid of him. As she stared into his dark and frighteningly determined eyes she didn't flinch, silently warning him that if he tightened his hold on her even the slightest, he would regret it.

His grip on her remained firm, as did his voice. "I am going to stay and you are going to listen to me. Then I am going to do whatever the hell you want me to. But you will damn well listen to what I have to say." Joseph's voice was low and commanding, allowing no objection. Despite the unquestionable authority in his voice, he knew in his heart that all it would take was her fighting his hold on her and it would all be over. He would have to let her go. He could never hold her against her will.

For a moment she couldn't move, her eyes shifting from anger to shock, insecurity, determination and then finally back into anger. His words demanded more of her than she was willing to give up. Hadn't he humiliated her enough? She was ready to strike him, to fight, not just for her dignity but her mere survival. He must sense it in her, his body tensing, his eyes holding onto hers. Suddenly the spell was broken, a knock on the door making them both jump, as Shade's voice sounded from the other side.

"Is everything alright, your Majesty?"

"Yes..…yes….. thank you," she called, incredibly grateful for the sudden interruption. She used the opportunity to slip away, pulling herself out of his grasp and away from him in one swift motion as she spoke, moving as far away from him as she could. She turned her back, unconsciously hugging herself tight. She knew that she had just sealed her fate. She would listen.

Joseph didn't follow her, just stared at her tensed back, realizing that she had just opened the door for him to say everything he had come here to say. He wasn't sure where to start, how to put words to these years that had gone by. How could he possibly tell her in how many ways he wanted things to be different? How often he had thought about the day he left, regretting every second that passed because it took him further away from her?

And worse yet, how many times had his mind wandered back to that night in San Francisco. The night that everything had changed. Forever. That night had been the first time in a long time that she had laughed and danced, the first time in a long while that she had reason to. She had looked so beautiful, radiant, as she had escorted her granddaughter onto the dance floor. Carefree. Happy. The years of sorrow and struggle since the deaths of Rupert and Philippe had just seemed to fall away from her, leaving a breathtaking, laughing woman swirling in his arms on the dance floor. That night had been his undoing; her hand in his as they slipped away from the party, her smile as she closed the door to her suite, her perfume everywhere around him, her breath upon his skin as she leaned closer.

The memory of what had happened between them that night unnerved him, and made him more determined than ever to continue now, to tell her the truth. "I want you to hear me out because I don't think I can live with letting you leave tomorrow without …" he paused for just a second, almost expecting her to lash out at him again but he only heard her draw a shaky breath, her face lost in the shadows. "…without setting some things right between us."

Still she didn't move, didn't speak. He could feel the tension in the air, her nerves as taut as a violin string. Waiting.

"When you walked into that theatre last week, I didn't know what to do with myself. Truth is, your coming here made me face a lot of things that I had been avoiding for a long while. I hadn't wanted to face them."

"You didn't want me to come." It wasn't a question. Her words hung in the air between them and she closed her eyes for just a second, his silence only confirming what she already knew. These memories that she cherished were nothing but a burden to him. Something he couldn't even bear to be reminded of. God it hurt, more than she ever could have imagined. The knowledge bore into her heart like a knife, her spirit broken. "Was what happened between us really that bad?"

Her words made him snap his head up in disbelief. A wave of shame and regret he wasn't at all unfamiliar with washed over him. She spoke as if she really believed it, her voice struggling not to reveal what he could so clearly hear. Disbelief, pain, and even worse…defeat.

"No," he said softly, walking over to stand behind her and gently placing his hands on her tense shoulders, breathing deeply. "Clarisse… no. It was everything."

Her throat tightened at his words and she swallowed hard, not turning around to face him but remaining where she was, allowing his hands to stay on her shoulders. Everything? She felt a tremor deep inside of her, echoing his words.

"I just couldn't bear remembering it. I thought it would be easier not to, but it wasn't. Everything that has ever been good in my life is somehow connected to you….to those years. Didn't you know that?"

"No." Her answer was nothing more than a whisper, urging him to continue. She felt him squeeze her shoulder lightly as if asking her to believe him. She did.

"The first time I saw you all those years ago, I didn't even know you yet, but I knew somehow that you would change my life. Maybe in some way I loved you even then." He heard her sharp intake of breath, hearing the words that had never been spoken out loud before.

"And then I got to know you. I saw how much of yourself you gave up to be the person people needed you to be, and yet there was so much more to you than they would ever see. The way you laughed playing with your children, ambushing them in a water fight and winning hands down. Or the way you fought to get to ride that new stallion in the winter race even though everybody told you that you would break your neck.

I watched you falling asleep at your desk on top of a pile of papers, turning out the light for you. I listened to you singing to yourself in the garden when you thought nobody was watching. I don't know how many evenings I spent on the sofa in your suite, watching you pacing back and forth, trying to find a solution to whatever it was that needed solving. I could never imagine being anywhere else. Every day it got a little harder. Every time you walked into a room and your eyes met mine it got harder. Every evening I found you leaning against the doorpost to my office asking me what it would take to pry me away from there to join you for an evening stroll in the park, I had to fight a little harder."

The tremor inside of her was growing stronger, building into an avalanche, and she closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay at bay. He had never spoken to her like this before and his words washed over her like waves of warmth, his voice soft and low. Her hand trembled as she reached up and covered his hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. The tears slowly began to fall.

Joseph took a deep breath and continued. "Do you remember the last night we spent at the summerhouse? Three years ago? Most of the staff had returned home already and the boys were planning on leaving early the next morning for the mainland. You insisted on doing the last packing yourself, and you always took so long I just knew we would end up having to take a later boat. I teased you about it just for the hell of it until you were about ready to leave me there till next season." He paused for a moment, painfully aware that there had never been a next season. Had he known it would be their last summer he would have cherished it more, realized how lucky he was. But then it was just another summer by the ocean. They would always come back.

"I remember," Clarisse said quietly, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She let them come. The tears were cleansing her, rebuilding her, washing away the years. Night was falling outside, the room was growing darker, but she didn't notice it. All that mattered was Joseph's voice soft and close to her ear, his words mending and breaking her heart at the same time.

"We all spent the last night sitting out on the terrace watching the ocean, talking. Philippe and Pierre had lit a fire to roast some marshmallows, just as they had when they were children, insisting that it didn't matter if you where ten or thirty, it tasted just the same. I remember looking at you. You were sitting under an old blanket, laughing at some stupid story Pierre was telling us and getting your hands sticky with the half burned marshmallow Philippe dared you to eat. You were the most beautiful woman in the world and you didn't even know it. And then you looked at me. I knew then that there was no use denying it any longer. I loved you."

"Joseph." She breathed his name more than said it, twisting around slightly to look at him. She remembered that night, the way she had watched him watching her, secretly relishing the way it had made her stomach flutter. He was looking at her the same way now, that way that made her feel completely safe and almost frightened at the same time. She had met his gaze many times before, wondering, hoping, and feeling the same shiver running down her spine. And yet she had always backed away. Except once. Except in San Francisco.

Being this close to him now, she would just have to tilt her head up and brush her lips to his and it would all come back to her, but she couldn't. As much as he had just told her, as much as she wanted to hear it, there was still a question burning inside of her. How did this make sense? How did his loving her explain her being left standing all alone in her darkened suite the night of Genovia's Independence Day Ball, her heart bruised? She had watched him leave her suite without a word. Why? If he loved her as he said he did, why did he walk away from her that night, leaving her alone and confused? And a month later, when they were back in Genovia – why had he left her for good?

"Then why did you leave?" There was no accusation in her words, her voice was gentle, her eyes searching his. "I thought… I thought you wanted it too. That night in San Francisco, dancing in your arms…..I was sure of it. And then in less than a month you were gone. No explanation. No way to reach you. You just left."

He looked down at her tear-stricken face, seeing everything he had lost in the shadows of his own guilt and self-sacrifice, everything that could have been and everything she had been willing to give him. She deserved closure, they both did. Slowly he reached a hand up and stroked her wet cheek, breathing deeply.

"I didn't want to leave Clarisse, but it could never have been. It was for the best."

"For the best?" Her voice was just a whisper, filled with disbelief as she moved out of his grasp, his hand falling from her face. "For the best?"

"Clarisse, please, let me explain…" he reached for her hand, desperately wanting her to understand his decision and how much it had cost him to go, knowing that it would cost them both even more if he stayed. She needed to hear this.

"No, Joseph!" Clarisse twisted away from him, her voice rising in anger. The small flicker of hope that she had held inside of her, growing stronger with every word he had spoken, was now shattered, lying in ruins before her. How could he possibly do this to her again?

"Who the hell are you to have decided what was best for me?!" She lashed out at him, as if screaming at him would make the pain any less real, the betrayal any less hurtful. Tears were still streaming down her face but now they were tears of anger and bitterness. "I opened my heart to you! I allowed myself to love you! Who were you to decide what could and couldn't be?! Who were you to decide to throw it all away?!"

In the awkward silence that fell, her fast breathing sounded strangely loud. And suddenly she couldn't look at him anymore. She could no longer stare in those dark eyes, the same eyes that had left her breathless at some point. Within a few steps, she reached the door and opened it.

"Get out."

It wasn't until these words left her mouth, her voice ragged and broken, that she realized they weren't alone any more. Jack! Dear God she had forgotten all about him and now he was standing there in the doorway, a bouquet of roses in his hands, his hand frozen in mid-air and a stunned look on his face. To his credit he recovered fast, not wanting to embarrass her by letting on that he had heard anything at all of what she has just said. But the damage had already been done, her humiliation complete. She couldn't bear having anybody seeing her like this, least of all Jack. She didn't want to be this woman, helplessly thrown between hope and despair with no control over her own emotions, her whole life crumbling at the words of a man she once had thought could never hurt her.

Taking in the scene before him, Jack's eyes drifted from Clarisse's shocked face, her skin flushed and her cheeks wet with tears to Joseph, staring at him grimly without saying a word.

Jack turned toward the hall to leave. "I'll give you some privacy."

"No. Don't bother. I am leaving." Joseph gave Clarisse one last glance, for just a second wondering if she would stop him. She didn't, her eyes refused to meet his. He had been a fool to do this, driven by his own need to change things that couldn't be changed. He had wanted to clear his conscious, to ease his burden. What a damned fool he had been. Not saying another word, he walked out of the room.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hello all, we're back with an update!**_

**_When we left the couple in New York last time, Joseph confessed Clarisse that he'd been in love with her for a very long time. To Clarisse's question why he left her, he told her that it was for the best. To that, Clarisse let all her frustrations come out. She kicked Joseph out of her apartment, but to her great shock, Jack was there when she opened the door. Did Jack overhear her emotional outburst? What's going to happen now? Read and find out..._**

After Jack watched the elevator doors close, he returned his attention to the woman standing in the doorway. She quickly moved away from him, shaking her head, breathing deeply. After a slight hesitation, he followed her inside and closed the door softly behind him. He approached her carefully, yet with determination. "What on earth is the matter, Clarisse?" The concern in his voice was evident, clearly he knew that something was very wrong here. "What happened?" He took a few more steps in her direction until he came to stand right behind her. "Darling?"

She cleared her throat, once again inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump that made it difficult for her to speak. She didn't know how much he had overheard, and the thought that he had witnessed her emotional tirade made her cheeks burn and her stomach cringe. The words she was never, ever going to share with anyone else had escaped her lips, and she could only pray that Jack hadn't heard them. She inhaled deeply and blinked fiercely to get rid of the tears that seemed to force their way into her eyes.

"Darling, are you crying?"

"No!" she said loudly and much too quickly, foolishly denying what Jack could now see was obvious.

Jack turned halfway to the door again in confusion, and then looked back to Clarisse. Taking in her fragile state and the obvious signs of her distress, his concern heightened. He questioned her again, his voice stronger this time. "Clarisse, for God's sake, what's wrong? Did that man hurt…"

"No!" she repeated just as loudly, her tone more desperate. After yet another big sigh she lowered her voice, trying to sound calm. "It's not really important, Jack, honestly. Just a difference of opinion," she said, hoping that her voice didn't sound too forced. She turned around to face him and smiled at him. By the look on Jack's face, she could tell instantly that he knew she was lying. Slowly he approached her until he came to stand right in front of her, his brows furrowed in concern. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt the warmth of his hand on her cheek, his fingers lifting her chin as he was seeking her eyes. She let her eyes drift from the wrinkles around his eyes, his nose, his chin, lower to his tie and then back up to his pursed lips. As much as she wanted to look into Jack's eyes at that moment, to seek the loving comfort that she knew she would find there, she just couldn't. To do so now would betray her utter confusion, relay her every emotion. He would know, wouldn't he? With one look into her eyes he would know that her heart was torn. She wanted to love him. She knew she could have a future with this man. Why were her emotions still so tangled up with a man who managed to hurt her more each time she saw him? She couldn't let Jack see how much pain she was in or let him know why. To do so would risk hurting him as much as she herself was hurting. That was something she could not do.

"Clarisse…" He tried again, reaching out to rest his hands on her shoulders. He bit his lip when he saw her utterly sad expression, her trembling lips, her teary eyes that seemed to look everywhere but his eyes. "Tell me why you're so upset," he urged.

A short sense of relief washed over her, but it didn't make her heart feel lighter. At least he didn't know, thank God he didn't know.

Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, a begging tone slowly creeping into it. "As I said, a difference of opinion. Jack, please…"

For a second she feared that he wouldn't accept her answer. That he would say that he wanted to know what was in her heart, and that he would demand some answers from her. But when he opened his mouth to speak, she once again realized that this man had always been, and would always be, one of the most generous and understanding men she had ever known.

"Clarisse, whatever it is that has upset you so much, whatever you need, darling…you know that I'm here for you. I always will be."

She sighed and nodded, biting her trembling lip. "I do know, Jack, thank you," she said softly. Here he was,always here for her.He was offering her the world, the chance for something new, the chance to finally move on and she wanted nothing more than to accept it. She had tried, God how many times had she tried, but every time she thought she was succeeding…Joseph…. He had confessed he loved her and the realization had warmed her heart for a quick moment, but in the end, what did it matter? Nothing had changed. Nothing would change.

With tears threatening to fall yet again, she still felt the emotions racing through her body and it unnerved her. She still tasted the bitter anger in her throat, felt the painful sting in her stomach and she couldn't suppress the uncontrollable tremor in her hands. Facing Jack seemed, as loving and supportive as he was, like an impossible thing to do right now. If she was going to pull through this without breaking in front of him, she desperately needed some time to try and pull herself together.

"You're a bit early," she eventually said gently, her voice shaky. "Would you mind giving me a few minutes to freshen myself up a bit? I won't be long, I promise."

He smiled briefly, narrowing his eyes. She was doing it again. Right before him, Clarisse was desperately trying to hide whatever on earth it was that made her so upset. She was an expert in shutting people out, that he was very aware of, but as hard as she was trying, this time she was not succeeding. Not with him, anyway. He knew her far too well. The hurt was present in her eyes, she was aching, she was in deep emotional pain and she couldn't hide it. Never, not ever had he seen this look in her eyes, and the apparent reason for her state of mind was right outside the building. Suddenly, Jack knew what to do.

"Naturally, darling. Take your time. I guess I'm a bit early," he nodded, taking a few steps back. "Meet me in the lobby, I'll be waiting for you."

Her smile was sad and she bit her lip, smiling gratefully at him. "Thank you Jack, I won't be long."

When the door closed behind him, she hid her face in her hands. And soundly, she cried.

----------

_**Two Years Earlier**_

_**San Francisco, Independence Day Ball**_

"She did it Joseph, she did it!" She exclaimed the words as soon as he closed the door behind them. The room was covered in darkness but moonlight entered through the open windows, creating a shaft of blue light. The ruffled sound of heavy rainfall had finally stopped and a peaceful, comforting silence had replaced it. They couldn't even hear the loud noise coming from the party downstairs. Boy, was he glad that they escaped it.

"I know…" Reaching out to hit the switch to the light, he suddenly held back. He couldn't help but smile at the sight that unfolded before his eyes. Clarisse danced more than she walked, turning around in her ball gown with an ease as if it was a jumpsuit.

She didn't seem to notice how dark it was and frankly, he couldn't care less, her smile alone was more than enough to light up the dimly lit suite. She made a high, excited sound as she breathed in, clasping her hands together and pressing them to her mouth. "She's going to be a fine princess, don't you think?"

"With a role model like her grandmother, how can she not," he nodded, slowly following her in.

She exhaled against her hands. "I thought I lost my country," she said, closing her eyes. "I really thought she wouldn't…"

He laughed and took a few steps closer in her direction. "But she did Clarisse, she's our Princess." He felt a warm glow around his heart when she opened her eyes to look at him, nodding at him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat. Even through the darkness in the room, he could still see the sparkles in the blue depth of her eyes. Those vital, excited, alive sparkles put her tiara and diamond necklace to shame.

She turned around, away from him, moving a few paces, unable to stand still until she was standing in front of the window. The blue moonlight caught her in its shaft, seeming to caress her, emphasizing the round curves of her body. He studied her, hypnotized by her sheer beauty, mostly caused by the happiness that seemed to envelope her. He took a sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. There was confusion in Joseph's soul, and although a sort of fear tugged at his heart, at that moment his whole being was yearning for her, his queen. Within seconds, he had managed to forget all about the promises he made to himself. Promises to stay away from her, to resist the temptation she posed to him.

Then, slowly, her dreamy expression changed and she turned around to face him.Her voice was softer when she spoke. "I don't think I could have gotten through these past few weeks without you, Joseph." She smiled sweetly at him. "You have always been my rock. You are always here for me….always. And you were here for Mia, too. You have no idea how grateful I am." She came closer, the shiny, heavy fabric of her ball gown swaying along with the movements of her hips. He watched her, still, taken in by her.

"Oh, I didn't do much," he shrugged.

"I beg to differ…" she said, and when she came to stand in front of him, he couldn't help but hold his breath. She was blushing, even in this darkness her cheeks were as pink as a rose, her eyes a shade of dark blue he would never be able to describe, and she smiled at him. He swallowed. He couldn't resist her. He simply wasn't strong enough to do so.

"Because I do know that, if it wasn't for you, she wouldn't have been here tonight."

He shook his head. "As much as I do like this praise, she wanted to come. She took responsibility for her own life, it was her own strength and perseverance that brought her to us."

"But you…" She shook her head, now reaching out to let her hand slide over his arm. He felt the warmth of her body all the way through two pieces of clothing.

"I was her driver, nothing more and nothing less," he said, and then continued with a tilt of his head. "But I did threaten that utterly strange neighbor to find her, that I gladly take credit for."

"Mr. Robutusen?" Clarisse laughed, her eyes glittering. "You threatened him?"

"He thinks I'm a spy," Joseph said. "So he can't be really surprised by it."

"Shut up," she roared with laughter now. "Lily called you Shaft, Robutusen called you a spy, and oh, didn't that clerk think you wore women's shoes?"

He laughed too, merely at her spontaneous use of her granddaughter's expression. Clarisse was heavenly this evening, loose, relaxed, beaming from happiness and excitement. If he was to drop dead right now, he would die a happy man just because he was allowed to look at her.

"It's a hard life I lead, I know," he grinned.

"Oh tush, come here you," she laughed, and then, without any warning, her arms were around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Joseph stopped laughing in an instant. He breathed deep, closing his eyes for a moment. She smelled like flowers, a delicate mixture of roses and lilies. The scent was pure and soft and it made his head spin, like he'd had too much wine. Slowly, her laughter subsided.

"Thank you, Joseph," she murmured against his shoulder. "I mean that with all my heart." Her hair tickled his cheek.

He felt it in the pit of his stomach, his want for her that he had hidden for so long made a sudden jump again. It was there, taking control of his body and mind as if it had never left. He realized as he inhaled her sweet and fresh scent once more, that it had been there all along.

"Clarisse, I…" he started, knowing instinctively that if he was to stand there any longer, he wouldn't be able to withdraw. But she interrupted him, her left hand sliding from around his neck to his face and she placed her fingers upon his lips. His heart started to pound in his chest, realizing her intentions. The gesture was so intimate, so tender that he started to tremble. His queen was in his arms, wanting to touch him. He swallowed, butterflies tingled in his stomach.

"Let me say thank you," she whispered. Her fingers slipped from his mouth, coming to rest against his collarbone. She shifted her weight slightly, bringing them even closer together. He bit back a gasp as her thigh brushed his, and she stilled at his sudden intake of breath. She turned her face from his shoulder and he felt her breath warm on his cheek. He lifted his eyes towards the ceiling, trying to focus on other things, searching for one last ounce of self-control that was going to make him withdraw from her. But there was no turning back. He bent his head just as she lifted her chin. The kiss was tentative at first, and Joseph closed his eyes despite the darkness. Clarisse slid her hand up, fingers toying with the skin at the nape of his neck as she opened her mouth beneath his. Joseph felt as if he were in freefall, an explosion of tickling nerves apparent in his stomach. They increased when he tasted her. A taste unlike any other. And then he took over.

He splayed his fingers across her back, tracing her spine as his mouth moved over hers. He was lost in her arms, lost for words, lost for actions, all he could do was respond to her caresses and give her everything he wanted to give. She put both arms tightly around him now, one hand in his neck, the other on the back of his head, steering the kiss. Her lips were oh so soft beneath his, her mouth warm, her scent enveloping him. He held her close, drawing her even closer as he slipped a hand in her neck. She was breathing along with him, kissing him with a passion that took him by surprise.

After what seemed to last hours and at the same time, hardly no time at all, he slowly broke the kiss, breathing deeply. He was dizzy, his head spinning. She was resting her head against his cheek, her chest falling and rising slowly. From the corner of his eye, he caught her smile. A shy, warm, endearing smile.

They stood there for a while and Joseph sighed deeply, stroking her neck. Her hair tickled between his fingers. He was overwhelmed by her and she seemed to feel the same way, neither of them seemed ready to release the other.

She sighed. "I'm so happy Joseph…" she whispered. "Everything seems to have fallen into place."

"You should be happy, you deserve it," he said, his voice even hoarser than ever. He lowered his head, placing a kiss on the soft spot next to her mouth. She stroked his cheek, eyes closed, lips curving in a smile. Then, they melted in an embrace again, her nose hidden in his neck, pulling him close to her.

For one moment in time, his world made perfect sense. For one warm, tender moment Joseph relished the feeling of holding his queen, his dream, in the safety of his arms. He'd never expected to feel this way, that she would answer his love, that she would caress him in the way she just did.

"Penny for your thoughts," she suddenly said softly, a bit hoarse.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he couldn't find the words that would reflect his inner feelings. Nothing would be sufficient anyway.

"Joseph?" she asked, lifting her face so she could meet his gaze. Her eyes were warm, inquiring but her expression changed into concerned when he didn't respond. "Are you all right?"

He swallowed. "I'm all right," he said, placing a hand on her warm cheek. With his thumb he stroked her cheek, feeling the soft skin even better against his hand when she smiled. Her eyes never left his and he couldn't resist placing a kiss on her forehead, her cheek, her chin.

"Oh Joseph…" she sighed, leaning into him. "After all this time…"

He nodded. "I know…" he murmured, pulling her in his arms again. Holding her, he just longed to hold her. And then his world collapsed.

"I just wish…" she said, while he stroked her hair, "I just wish that Philippe could have been here too."

His insides froze. His hand stiffened on her hair and he swallowed, shaking his head to suppress the thoughts that welled up in his head.

"He would have been so proud at his daughter, wouldn't he?" she continued, resting her head against his shoulder now.

He let out a humming sound, closing his eyes firmly. Not willing to listen, not willing to let her words hit the target that he had managed to protect. He had failed, apparently.

"He was very fond of you, you know," she then said, unknowingly pushing him further into a state of misery. He shook his head again, trying to ignore, trying not to listen. Inside his stomach a knot was forming, getting tighter at every word she spoke. It hurt him physically, knowing that what he was doing, that what brightened his existence, was never going to last. Not without telling her. And he couldn't tell her, he couldn't do this to her, not now, not this evening. Not when everything was perfect for her, how could he ruin her life like that knowing that it would tear her apart. He wouldn't be able to comfort her, again, she would have to go through it alone. And he didn't want her to suffer alone, never again. He had to go. Now.

"He would have loved knowing that…"

"Clarisse," he said, interrupting her before she could continue. His voice sounded ragged. "I better head back inside."

She drew away from him to look at him, searching for his eyes. "What? Why?" She looked like as if she was doubting if she had heard him right.

His holding her suddenly felt wrong, his hands resting on her back like an intrusion. He instantly released her. "They don't know what's keeping me, I have to check on the … cameras…"

"Can't they manage without…" She blinked in utter confusion.

He attempted to smile but failed, turning towards the door. "I'm afraid they can't, I have to go."

He inhaled sharply as felt her hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. He could only hope that the darkness that surrounded them hid enough of his facial expression not to unnerve her. The second he allowed himself to look at her again, he regretted it. His throat tightened, it hurt him.

"When you're done, later, tonight…" Her voice was soft, low and she smiled at him. She seemed shy and it upset him even more, knowing he didn't deserve this.

He cleared his throat. "It will be very late."

By the blush that appeared on her cheeks and the shy smile she gave him, she seemed to gather courage. He wished he could beg her to stop, beg her not to ask him what he, in fact, so desperately wanted to hear.

"I have a bottle of _Bonneau du Martray Corton Charlemagne_, it's cold, you'll learn to love it," she continued, a smile curving her lips. He'd always loved hearing her speak French, coming from her the language seemed even more sensual. But now, he would have given his life if she would stop asking him what he would have to turn down.

Her eyes narrowed, trying to read him. "Joseph?"

He blinked even more fiercely and his voice trembled as he answered. "I can't, Clarisse."

Her mouth dropped, her eyes searched his but he looked away. "You…can't," she repeated, swallowing with difficulty. Her blush deepened, he could only imagine how humiliated she must feel. Her voice got a concerned tone, her eyes widening as understanding began to dawn. But she understood wrong, so very wrong. "Joseph, do you regret…"

"No!" he said, feeling the desperate need to comfort her. "No, Clarisse, you…I…I can't, I just…" He tried to force the words to come, to tell her what was burdening his soul, yet he couldn't. "I can't be with you this way."

She looked like a deflated balloon, as if he had punched all the air out of her. Her shoulders lowered, looking at him with a stunned look on her face.

"You can't _be_ with me…"

"Clarisse, I…"

He took a step in her direction and reached out to her, yet his hand dropped when she backed away from him. Her hands came up to cover her face as she shook her head in disbelief.

He felt his throat tighten at the sight. "I have to go," he managed to say before he turned around and walked out the door. He didn't look back, couldn't bare to see her standing there all alone. And with a brisk movement, he wiped the wetness off his cheeks.

----------

**New York**

"Damned!"

For the second time, he dropped his keys and he bent down again with a frown on his face. Annoyed with himself, he hastily opened the lock and got in his car, pulling the handbrake a little too forcefully.

"Joseph!"

Vaguely, he heard his name but he didn't want to hear it, refused to listen. The events of two years ago still ran around in his head, and he was reliving it, still.

"Hey! Stop!"

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car, pressing his lips in annoyance. Even though the sun wasn't shining and dusk was falling, he searched for his sunglasses and put them on with an angry movement. He didn't want to meet his own eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Joseph!"

The sharp, short knock on his window startled him and he looked outside, frowning when he recognized the face of the man who was looking right at him. Jack Bradford was standing next to his car, panting a little as if he had rushed to get there. Jack gestured to ask him to lower his window and so Joseph did, frowning behind the darkness of his glasses.

"Sir Bradford?" he asked, his tone short and, he was sure of it, not very polite.

Ignoring the fact that he was addressing him in that formal way again, Jack leaned forward, his arm on the frame of the car door. "We need to talk."

For a moment he hesitated, but then he shook his head. In this state of mind, he wasn't about to discuss anything, with anyone -- least of all, with the man outside his window who was waiting for an answer. "No, we don't. If you'll excuse me…"

As Joseph started the car, Jack frowned and reached in to grab Joseph's arm. He raised his voice to top the sound of the rolling engine. "I think it's high time you and I discussed a certain lady, don't you agree?"

Joseph glanced at Jack's hand on his arm, then up to his face, not entirely sure if he had heard it right. But Jack looked directly at him and the accusation was clearly present in his eyes. "With all due respect sir, I don't think you and I have anything to discuss." He attempted to put the car in the first gear but his hand dropped in mid-air when Jack spoke again.

"Why did you find it necessary to hurt her?"

Within a matter of seconds, Joseph had turned off the engine and he was out of the car. The anger boiled inside him like hot water, frustration reaching the surface like hot steam. "Who the hell do you think you are?" His voice was dangerously low and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his hands clenched into fists.

Jack frowned but didn't step back. "I asked you something," he said calmly.

"I heard you," Joseph said, his jaw clenched. "And you have no idea what you're talking about. None whatsoever!"

Jack smiled briefly, annoyingly so. "So why don't you fill me in?"

His calm tone angered Joseph even more. He knew he was close to losing his self control, but he couldn't find the strength to just walk away either. Everything he had been blaming himself for these past few years was hidden in that one question that Jack had just asked him. Realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He had hurt her. She was in pain because of him and he knew it. The fight suddenly drained out of him. He looked at Jack, unable and unwilling to explain.

"This isn't your concern," he said dejectedly.

"You made it my concern Joseph," Jack responded, his voice low. "Clarisse's well being will always be my concern and clearly, you jeopardized that. You left her in tears just now, and you're going to tell me why."

For a moment, the two men looked at each other in silence. Then, after slight hesitation, Joseph removed his sunglasses. "She was still crying?" he asked, feeling how the bitter taste of guilt filled his mouth. He swallowed but couldn't get rid of the taste.

"Yes," Jack said, in a softer tone. He was deeply puzzled by all that was happening, yet he could see in the eyes of the man in front of him that there was more going on than what met the surface.

Joseph looked aside, staring at the empty street without really seeing anything. Darkness was slowly taking over. "I never meant to hurt her, she is…she…" He whispered the words and then he stopped himself, facing Jack again. "I never meant any of this to happen," he said, shaking his head slightly. Why he felt the need to tell Jack this, he didn't understand. But it was as if someone had ripped a bandage off his heart, he had to say the words out loud in order to heal.

Looking at Joseph, Jack realized that they seemed to have more in common than he first had realized. This wasn't just a difference of opinion as Clarisse has stated, this was more, so much more. Suddenly, all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle seemed to fall into place. Jack had always sensed that the path to Clarisse's heart had somehow never been clear from obstructions; that he had realized all along, but suddenly he understood that the main obstacle was standing right here in front of him. Jack sucked in a deep breath as the realization hit him.

"I see," he said, a cold, steely tone evident in his voice. "Joseph, I'm not going to pretend that I completely understand what happened between you and the lady upstairs. Neither can I say that I know what you were trying to accomplish this evening, but it seems to me that it backfired."

Joseph's eyes narrowed, hot anger slowly started to climb up his body again. Anger towards Jack, towards the world, towards…himself. "I have to go," he said, turning around to get in his car again. Yet he stopped when Jack spoke again.

"Hasn't she been through enough already?"

Joseph turned, his face full of disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Jack took a step closer so he came to stand right in front of Joseph. "I don't know what kind of claim you think you have on Clarisse, but isn't it time that you let her go so she can move on?"

Joseph smirked. "So you can clean up the mess I left behind? She's not yours to save, Jack," he said, realizing the irony of his own words. It had been his job to save her from any harm or threat and not only did he give up that right when he left her, he had caused her exactly that. Deep down he knew that Jack was telling him the truth but he wasn't ready to hear it. Not here, not from the lips of the man who was able to comfort Clarisse in ways that he couldn't.

Jack continued, not in the least impressed by the expression on Joseph's face. "Do you want Clarisse to be happy?" he asked softly, seeking a hint of understanding in Joseph's eyes.

For a moment it was silent and the two men looked at each other. Joseph swallowed, if Jack only knew the whole story he would never have asked that question. "Of course," he finally said, his voice hoarse.

Jack nodded briefly. "Then let her go. Truly let her go. Don't see her or contact her again."

Joseph pressed his lips together and broke their gaze, staring at the large building with the countless windows. Behind one of them was the woman he had sacrificed his own heart for. He had tried to give her up once before. Could he truly do it this time? Slowly, he shook his head. He had always been strong enough to fight. But maybe Jack was right, maybe this was a battle he shouldn't fight, for her sake. In his heart, he realized that it would take even more strength for him to finally let her go.

Slowly, he moved his gaze to Jack again. "Goodbye, Sir Bradford."

Jack nodded purposefully, hoping that he had managed to get through to him. "Goodbye, Mr. Romeiro."

Without saying one more word Joseph turned and got into his car, leaving Jack behind on the pavement.

----------

_TBC... love, Janet and Martina. _


	10. Chapter 10

It was late. What time it actually was, he had no idea. He knew it had to be late, or rather early, judging by the increasing daylight outside his window and the unfamiliar silence in the usually so busy streets of New York. The city, or at least the part of the city he was located in, was gradually waking up from a good night's sleep. Yet he hadn't slept a wink, he had been too awake, too confused, upset, whatever the hell it was that he was feeling. He couldn't decide which emotion was stronger than the other. All he knew was that he had lost her.

He sat on the soft, gray couch, wearing black sweatpants and an old, worn out white t-shirt. He shifted in his seat in the semi-darkness. Only one lamp was burning, and he had to squeeze his eyes to focus on the task to be done. He was so tired, both in his mind and in his body, but he didn't want to close his eyes – being too scared to be alone with his thoughts without distractions. His fingers slightly trembled from fatigue as he moistened the piece of fabric in his hand and rubbed over the smooth metal again. The smell of the polish reached his nose and he sniffed, wiping his skin dry with the back of his hand. He was desperately in need of a shower but his hands kept on rubbing, polishing, wiping and then all over again. He ignored the pain in his strained fingers and the cramp in his neck from sitting in the same position for hours now. But he kept on cleaning the black, shiny gun in his hand until his fingers were numb.

He had to say goodbye, he had to. It was his main job in life to protect her and he had failed in so many ways. He had to step aside, he had to let her go. She was gone. Every tear she spilled had stabbed him right in the chest, every tremble of her lips made his heart a little tighter. But he had to deal with it, everything would be better than…than… he cringed. Jack was right, he had to move on. He pressed his lips together and dismantled his gun completely. What a mess he found inside. He really had to clean this thing more often.

The high sound of his phone startled him and he jumped up, dropping the loose contents on the floor. Thank God the chamber of his gun was empty, he swore under his breath for his own stupidity. Within a few steps he had reached his phone, checking the number ID with his heart beating in his throat. He couldn't help but feel a hint of disappointment when he recognized the number. Erin.

He walked back to his couch. Ignoring, avoiding. Slowly he picked up the pieces of metal.

_"Joe, are you there? Pick up."_

He didn't move.

_"Joe, I know you're home because I can see the lights on. Come on now."_

His fingers froze for a second but as he looked at the answering machine, the polishing continued automatically.

_"If you don't pick up I'm going to assume that something is wrong and you know what happens then."_

He couldn't suppress a groan, threw the dismantled gun on his couch and heaved a big sigh as he got up from his couch and walked towards the window, opening it reluctantly. His answering machine broke the connection just when he stuck his head outside, glancing at the wet pavement below. He sighed again. "Hi Erin," he said, nodding at the impatient woman who was leaning against the hood of her car, staring up at him.

"It's a bit too late for a night cap. Can I interest you in an early breakfast?" his partner inquired.

He closed his eyes momentarily, realizing her intentions. Against his better judgment, he nodded at her again and pulled his head back in. A few seconds later a buzzing sound was heard and through the open window, he heard her open the front door of the apartment building. Just when he walked towards his front door and opened it, he heard the unmistakable, rattling sound of the elevator. He left the door open and returned to his spot on the couch, waiting for Erin to come in. As she did, he looked up at her.

"That isn't an elevator, it's a biological weapon," she commented as always, closing the door behind her with an annoyed gesture.

He couldn't even joke back. Slowly, he bent down to collect the different parts of his gun and placed it down next to him on the side table. And as he did, the framed picture of he and Clarisse which had been lying next to him on the couch, fell on the floor, the glass shattering into countless little pieces. He wasn't sure if he spoke or yelled a curse, he couldn't hold it in, seeing her beautiful face covered with broken glass. With care he knelt down, extracting the picture from between the splinters, hiding it in the safety of his hands.

"No. No, no, no…" He shook his head, ignoring the sharp pain in his fingertip, most likely caused by a glass splinter.

Erin's cough startled him. As he looked up again he saw her standing close to him, shaking her head slightly.

"Isn't it time that you started talking Joe?" she asked softly. "Isn't it time to confide in someone?"

As she moved to sit down next to him on the floor, he got up instantly, putting the picture in his shirt pocket, avoiding her gaze. He walked over to the window, staring outside without actually seeing anything. He wasn't ready for physical contact but he didn't reject her as she came to stand behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. In despair he closed his eyes, feeling how his body protested against her caresses. He was sure he didn't deserve this, her love, her friendship, her care and devotion. His hand came up to touch her hand on his shoulder. "Erin, I…"

"It's about her isn't it?" she whispered, her tone calm. She leaned her head against his back and briefly she patted his pocket. "Ever since a certain lady came to town you haven't been yourself."

He sighed, he couldn't help it. His silence was all the answer she needed.

Erin nodded against his back. "I thought so," she said, her voice low. "Why don't you tell me the truth Joe?" She rubbed his upper arm and softly she squeezed it. "Don't I deserve at least that?"

Although his heart said no, he also knew she was right, this wasn't fair to her. "I don't know how," he finally said, softly, almost whispering, but the tone in his voice showed defeat. He was surrendering.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," she said. His look was sad as he turned his head slightly to meet her gaze. "It's a long story," he said softly.

She shrugged, smiling calmly. "I have time."

-----

The noise on the other side of the glass wall of the VIP lounge was overwhelming even to her. The lights were too bright, and the line of exclusive stores screaming out their name at the aimlessly wandering mass of people all waiting to go some place else all blended together. Bags, perfumes, clothes and souvenirs. Her private departure hall, where she now found herself ensconced, seemed like a whole other world in comparison. Soft piano music played in the background to drown out the noise, the thick cream-colored carpets were spotless, and two black, leather couches promised comfortable seating.

The lounge was secluded from the rest of the airport by the use of a high glass wall; solid, strong, completely see-through, yet offering enough privacy to make her feel grateful for the peace and comfort it provided her in an otherwise absolutely maddening place.

Apart from Shades standing silently by the door, acting as if he wasn't there at all, it was just herself and Jack, who was currently making himself busy by pouring her a cup of tea from the complementary bar. She had asked for something to drink, not really thirsty at all, but desperately wanting to fill the silence that only served to remind her of how graciously he had accepted her confusing behavior the last few days.

Jack had been nothing but the perfect friend and host her entire stay, not for a moment pressing her for anything and in that lay the entire problem. He deserved more than this vague avoidance from her and the fact that he accepted it and continued to be the image of the perfect gentleman only made her feel even worse.

Studying the crowd moving back and forward at the other side of the window, her eyes fell on a little boy insistently pulling and yanking at his mother's coat. With every passing second his frustration grew and finally it became too much. The boy throwing himself on the floor furious and wailing at the top of his lungs, his face twisted in anger and tears streaking his reddened cheeks. Clarisse studied the tired woman standing next to him, her shoulders slumping under the weight of two oversized sports bags. She desperately clung to the cart holding the rest of their luggage, resting precariously on top of each other. For just a second their eyes met through the glass and the woman gave her a small, apologetic smile that Clarisse found herself returning. For the blink of a second, that other "every day" world didn't seem so far away, her own calm and perfect bubble a little less lonely.

What a relief to be a child, Clarisse thought as the woman gave in and abandoned her luggage to pick the boy up. To be able to express your anger and disappointment so freely, to let it all out instead of looking it up inside of you, allowing it to lingering like a bitter taste in your mouth because that is what you are supposed to do.

"Clarisse?"

She turned her head around, seeing by the look on Jack's face that he had called her name more than once. She felt another wave of guilt wash over her. He didn't seem to mind though, as always, his eyes soft and just a little bit teasing as he held out a black ceramic cup to her. She had it on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he thought that the cups had been designed especially to fit with the otherwise black interior of the room, but giving that they had barely said ten words to each other since they left the car it seemed silly to bring up something as trivial as that.

"Thank you." She made a conscious effort to smile at him as she accepted the steaming cup, her eyes warm and grateful. Suddenly she felt the need to thank him, again, to let him know how much she appreciated his concern, his devotion and most of all, his patience. Yet, speaking about what came straight from her heart was so very hard for her, terrifying in fact. But it was obvious to her, and probably him too, that she had to say or do something.

She struggled to find the right words, something that would actually mean something. She didn't want to part with him like this, with so much still unsaid between them. He was one of her oldest and dearest friends, one of the few that knew anything real about her, and not just what she allowed the world as a whole to know. A sudden sense of fear shot through her as he smiled calmly at her, leaning forward on the black chair. She didn't want to lose him, his friendship, the very real possibility of a life to be spent bathing in the comforting knowledge of being loved by him. The prospect of losing his friendship and love was nothing short of terrifying. It would only confirm that she had yet again failed when it came to her personal life. Another person driven away, more memories that wouldn't be pleasant anymore because all it would remind her of was her own failure. Somewhere deep down she recognized that despite how torn she felt right now, she didn't want to let go of the possibility of what had been revealed between them this week.

Truth was, she was tired of being alone, tired of wishing, waiting, remembering…especially remembering something that could have been, and yet never was. A true relationship with Jack was possible; she would be able to make it work. Yes. She knew they would be able to make it work. They could be happy together.

But right now, time was running out. She couldn't leave him like this, leaving him completely in the dark. In the magnificent panorama window to her left she could see her plane taxing in, it was time to act.

Breathing deeply she put her cup down without ever taking a sip from it, her heart beating just a little bit faster. As she leaned in to take his hand in hers, he glanced up at her, his eyes narrowing as he smiled.

She licked her lips, nervously so. "Jack…"

"I've enjoyed every minute of our time together, Clarisse. You know that." He spoke at the same time as she did, chuckling softly as she trailed off. His hand reached out for hers, gently brushing his finger against the smooth skin on the back of her hand. "Promise me you'll call me as soon as you get home."

She stared at his hand that was caressing her, loving her, wanting her. She sat there, still, taken in by his touch, realizing again right there and then that she was ready. As he made an attempt to get up, she suddenly reacted, adding pressure to her touch so he would stay seated. "No," she said, her voice unsteady, her head shaking slightly. Then she looked up at him, searching his gaze. "No."

He raised a brow. "You won't call me?" he asked, teasingly, yet with a concerned undertone evident.

She smiled at him, biting her lip before she inhaled deeply. "This isn't right," she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. "I think we can do better than just a phone call, can't we?."

He interrupted her, taking her other hand in his as well. Slowly he brought them up to his mouth, kissing her palm with a tenderness that made her sigh deeply.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Jack said, his voice deep and reassuring, yet questioning, comforting in that way that made her both calm and nervous at the same time. In that moment she knew that he understood exactly what she had wanted to say to him, even though she hardly knew herself. Smiling softly at him as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek she squeezed his hand hard, surprised at the tears stinging her eyes. "I admire your perseverance, Jack. Your patience, too. I have to admit that."

"When something's worth it, I can be patient," he said in a low voice. He was waiting for her to respond, she knew it and she did. She lifted her chin just that inch that was needed to make him lean in. Their lips met; warm, a bit tentative at first, but so promising. He kissed her tenderly on the lips, pulling her gently closer.

"Goodbye Clarisse," he said as he pulled back, stroking her cheek with just one finger and then he tapped the tip of her nose teasingly. "I'll see you soon."

The hidden cd- player switched tracks, and in the momentary silence she could hear the familiar sounds of the ramp shifting in place for her to board the plane.

"Goodbye Jack," she answered, searching his gaze one last time. Her smile was warm as she continued, "Very soon…for sure."

After one last smile Jack left the VIP lounge and she sighed deeply, turning her gaze towards the crowd outside again.

"Your Majesty?" Shades appeared at her side so silently that she hadn't even noticed him coming up to her, his face expressionless. "Time to go home."

Nodding softly she bent down and picked up her purse resting on the polished glass table, and allowed Shades to guide her in the direction of the now open gate. A rush of cold, air-conditioned air swept across her face.

"A newspaper, your Majesty?" Shades nodded towards the rack of assorted reading material next to the door.

"No, thank you." Clarisse shook her head and turned her head slightly for the very last time, watching Jack as he blended in with the great swarm of other travelers. As if he felt her stare he turned around before he disappeared completely, waving at her, kissing his fingertips. She smiled at him, returning his gesture to blow him one last kiss. She watched Jack go; and as she finally turned toward the waiting plane, she suddenly froze, instantly recognizing the man standing on the other side of the glass wall. Right where Jack had been just a moment ago, staring at her through the glass, was Joseph.

-----

There she was, dressed in black, her eyes locked with his. He swallowed with difficulty, breathing slowly, cold sweat appearing on his forehead. She looked directly at him and yet he couldn't reach her. Her eyes met his directly and he couldn't speak to her. His hands clenched into fists, feeling how his heart seemed to stop. She didn't seem to move at all. She was just looking at him and yet he could so clearly feel her anger and hurt. He felt her rejection hit him through the massive glass wall.

He had never expected to be standing here, but his talk with Erin made a sudden unexpected difference. She had listened to him until the wee hours of the morning, she had lend him her support… until they both sat there in silence. And then he had inhaled deeply, speaking the inevitable words. With a heavy heart, he had to tell her that after all this, he couldn't be with her anymore. As if she needed the confirmation.

She had been quiet for a while, lost in thoughts, and then she had looked up at him. For a moment he had expected her to yell at him, to blame him for the pain in her heart, for making a wrong decision once again. But her eyes were soft, showing defeat. And then she called him a coward. She thought he was strong, she had said. And now it was like all of his strength and perseverance had left him. She had told him that he simply wasn't the man she thought he was, and that he had disappointed her. He couldn't deny that he had hurt Erin too, that he had managed to betray the trust of two wonderful, caring women. And he had no excuse for it.

But then she got really angry. He'd wanted to protest, he'd wanted to comfort her, to let her know it wasn't her…it was him. But she'd yelled at him, cursing, swearing, asking who the hell he thought he was. He had tried to answer but she gave him no chance, asking him what on earth he was still doing at home. For a moment he had been confused, and when he'd asked her if he heard her right, she had told him that he might still be able to catch the lady who had such an incredible hold on his heart. But he would have to hurry.

He had stared at Erin in stunned surprise and he realized once more what a wonderful lady she was. She was a much better friend than he ever would be, and he had tried to thank her. All she had done, in true Erin style, was shrug and she had told him she'd rather loose to a Queen than to a local stripper. And that was that.

Now he was standing here, looking at his Queen, memorizing her slight figure, storing it into his memory. There were thousands of people surrounding him in the huge hall of the airport, and yet he felt it was just the two of them staring at each other. But when she slowly shook her head and the corners of her mouth dropped, he realized that it was over. He was too late. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg her to forgive him for not coming sooner, if only he could reach her. But he couldn't. His trembling hand touched the glass, stroking the cold surface without feeling it. He didn't even realize he was speaking until he heard his own hoarse whisper.

"Clarisse…please."

Time seemed to stretch, every sensation and image passing before her in slow-motion. The beating of her heart was loud and fast in her ears. The sound of an airplane engine was winding up in the distance. Joseph's eyes locking with hers and his lips forming her name followed by words she couldn't make out. Her neck strained almost painfully to keep his gaze. She felt Shades' hand on her back driving her forward.

And then he was gone.

The automatic doors closed behind her and locked with a loud click the moment she stepped forward. All she could see was the grey steel door, her body still moving forward at Shades' insistent hand. Just like that, the moment had passed and all she knew was that he had been there, her mind numb to anything else.

Later, she couldn't even remember how she got to her seat and put on her seatbelt. The plane took off with her frozen in her seat, staring blankly ahead of her.

They had almost crossed the Atlantic by the time she finally moved. With a small movement of her hand, she stopped Shades on his way to the front of the plane, and in a low voice asked him for a pen and a piece of her personal stationery.

-----

He didn't know how he made it back home. Apparently he had driven all the way back from the airport, had passed countless numbers of traffic lights, yet he couldn't remember anything.

He had been too late.

Maybe, in some odd way, this is what was meant to happen. Maybe he should have been more honest with her, he could and should have been open with her from the beginning. Yet he couldn't. It broke his heart, realizing how he had hurt her, If this was the way things would end between them, he would have to deal with it. He simply had to, there was no other way. The day he packed his bags in Genovia, he had made the decision to protect her at all costs from the truth, even if it brought with it the heartbreaking knowledge that she thought back on him, on them, with a sense of regret. Even if it meant that she would never know the truth, he would now have to live with his decision for the rest of his life. Perhaps it was still true. Perhaps she was better off without him.

And now here he was closing his suitcase again. He needed to find another way to live his life. New York had lost all its appeal to him. He would always be reminded of her, of them. The best way for him to start over was by moving to a new place. Where, he had no idea. Somewhere, somehow, he would maybe be able to find himself.

The talk he just had with the chief had been hard, yet he couldn't bother to think about that. There were too many emotions running inside of him, there simply wasn't room enough to worry about his job, too. Maybe it was time to retire, maybe he should simply fly to a sunny island and spend the days with a cap on his head, watching the sun drowning in the sea. Maybe his sorrows would drown with it.

Slowly he got up, taking his suitcase in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Funny, he had lived here for two years and all his belongings fit in these two items. He traveled without much baggage; with a wry smile he realized the ironic contradiction.

He looked around for the very last time, leaving his old gray couch behind. Saying goodbye to his old wooden table with the chairs that didn't match. Staring one last time at the stove that he had used maybe once or twice. The landlord would find someone else who was looking for a cheap apartment with all the furniture already in place. Maybe that person would find happiness here, bless their soul.

As he moved outside he closed the door behind him, not bothering to look back again. One last time he stumbled towards the elevator, waiting for the familiar rattling sound to become stronger and stronger, until he could step inside. Pressing the button, he took a step backwards, waiting for the doors to close. As they did, he closed his eyes too. Moving on.

As the elevator doors opened downstairs, he moved towards the desk, seeing how the dark haired young desk clerk was smiling at him. He liked the girl, he really did, but now he couldn't answer her smile.

"Signing out Amber," he said shortly, placing his key on the desk.

She sighed, her eyes sad. "I'm sorry you're going away Mr. Romeiro," she said. "Where are you going?"

"Where the sun takes me," he smiled sadly. "Are the documents ready as I requested?"

She nodded, placing a document on the counter. "Yes, everything is arranged. If you sign here, you're good to go."

As he signed the documents, she cleared her throat. "Before I forget, there's mail for you," she said, shoving a white envelope in his direction. "It was delivered here this morning. I was told I had to give it to you in person."

He blinked, staring at her in stunned surprise, instantly recognizing the gracious handwriting on the envelope. Cold sweat appeared on his forehead and then he sighed deeply, stroking the white paper.

"Thank you Amber," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Goodbye Mr. Romeiro," she smiled, extending her hand. "May luck be with you."

He shook her hand thoughtlessly, still staring at the envelope in his hand. Part of him wanted to rip it open right there and then, his heart was longing for a sign from her. Yet he was also frightened, not willing to contemplate more, yet he knew he was going to read it anyway. And as he walked outside the building to find his car, his trembling hands were opening the envelope already. He exhaled slowly through his mouth as he sat down on the hood of his car, unfolding the royal stationary. He swallowed as he saw The Royal Crest, followed by her elegant handwriting.

_Dear Joseph,_

_It is with pain in my heart, and regret in my soul, that I write you this letter._

_When I contemplate the past few days, one thought keeps going through my mind. You always said to me, in another lifetime it seems: "Lack of willpower has caused more failure than lack of intelligence or ability." In most circumstances, you are right. But in light of recent events, I see now that it's not just a lack of willpower that has brought us to where we are today. It's been the circumstances we live in, the consequences that my position brings. These matters, whether I like it or not, control my life and always will._

_It took me a while to decide whether I was brave enough to let you read these words that I've always wanted to say, yet never said. There have been times that I've been so very close to sharing with you what was in my heart, yet something always held me back. Maybe it would have made a difference if I had been able to be honest with you, although I have to admit, I don't think I would have been able to express myself in the way you did yesterday. I'm not accustomed to sharing my feelings and burdens so openly. I'm used to solving problems on my own. I guess that I learned the hard way not to show my weaknesses – and I can't tell you how hard it is for me to show them now, in this letter. Maybe I should have said it all yesterday._

_Looking back on all the years that lay behind us, I realize that maybe I've seen things the wrong way. I've always considered you as a close, dear friend; I ceased thinking of you merely as a member of my staff years and years ago. I can't even pinpoint the moment where I felt myself growing closer to you, closer in fact than a friend should be. To be honest, it's been a rough road since then, since I realized I was feeling things I wasn't supposed to feel. It unnerved me, knowing I was letting my emotions overrule reason, putting myself out there, taking a huge risk…and yet I did. Maybe I shouldn't have done it; maybe I shouldn't have put you in that position. I can't turn all of that back. All I can do now is wonder if things would have worked out between us if we had met under different circumstances. Maybe. maybe, maybe… You have no idea how much I resent that word now._

_I naively thought that we would be able to make a relationship work, despite the circumstances that worked against us. And I have to confess I merely thought of the consequences our relationship would have for me; what I wanted. I should have considered your feelings, your needs, more than I did. A mistake from a woman in love, I guess. I so wish I could have returned the sense of contentment that you gave me. But I couldn't. And I still can't._

_I will never be able to offer you the security of a normal relationship. My position simply won't allow it. Rupert once explained it to me; how he felt as if his country was like a demanding lover. No matter how much devotion he offered; it always needed more from him. More attention, more care, more love. It required everything he had just to keep the flame alive. It had to be the most important thing in his life, and rightly so. I understand now how hard it was for him to offer that same sort of love and devotion to anyone else, including me, no matter how much he may have wished it otherwise. I'm afraid it is that way for me now, too. I realize how utterly unfair it would be to expect you to live with the compromises and limitations my position would impose on us. Despite my desperately wanting it so, I fear that you would never have enough of my time, enough of my attention, enough of my love….enough of me. And where would that leave you, my darling? I fear I know the answer simply because I've been there myself. You deserve so much more than I would ever be able to provide. I understand all too well that knowing in your heart that someone loves you just isn't enough._

_I don't know why I didn't see that you weren't content with how things were going. I will never know for sure. It's clear to me now that your happiness lies elsewhere and that I need to move on. As a wise man once said, "If we do not change our direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed." A true statement although I guess, in all honesty, that I'm trying to change a direction that I never truly understood. I'm trying to change circumstances that are out of my control, but then again, circumstances can't truly be altered no matter how hard one tries. Fighting an invisible enemy is hard, after all. But I have to try, for my own sake and sanity._

_Joseph, dear Joseph, I will always keep you in my heart. Maybe in another lifetime, we'll meet again. I wish you the very best._

_With affection,  
Clarisse._

It took him a few seconds to think, just a few, and then he lowered the letter and threw his belongings in his car. He acted fast, didn't think twice.

Inside the building, Amber looked up from her work as she heard the engine of the black BMW. She raised a brow as the driver hit the gas, leaving a trace of dust behind. She shook her head and watched him leave. By the looks of it, he was in a hurry.

_We'll be back, sooner this time. With love, Janet and Martina_.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello everybody, we're back with an update. As always, we let you wait for far too long and we apologize for that. It's just that getting together to discuss the ins and outs of this story is hard when the two writers are very busy in their personal lives. But we're here and we won't leave until we finished this story. Thank you for your comments and your loyalty. Here are two chapters to enjoy yourself with! Love, Janet and Martina xxx_

---

The world outside was cast in an almost ghostly dusk. The dark clouds rolled in slowly, taking hold of and transforming the world around her until the storm at last was upon them, hitting the small island with full force.

She had been sitting by the window for over an hour now, watching in fascination as the wind grew stronger and more forceful, bending the bare branches of the trees until she thought they would break in two. The strong gusts of wind made every board in the whole house creak and moan in discontent, the rain smattering hard against the windows.

She could feel a small tremor running through the house as the waves forcefully crashed onto the shore below, filling the air with salt and seawater that mingled with the rain.  
The lone candle next to her on the windowsill was flickering, struggling to stay alive as the wind blew through the small creaks between the shingles of the house. A rush of cold air suddenly blew through the room and she drew the old afghan cardigan tighter around her, shivering slightly. She hadn't exactly taken time to pack appropriately for this trip. The old, but well-loved cardigan she had found laying forgotten on the rocking chair in the upstairs bedroom had been a welcome sight, almost bringing tears to her eyes in the dark, cold house.

Through the branches swaying back and forth outside, she could see the flickering lights by the gatehouse where Shades and Adam held vigil this evening. In a moment of self-consciousness, she wondered what they must be thinking of her right now.

Shades had tried to dissuade her from coming here ever since she announced her plans to him late last night. His seemingly never-ending tirade of valid reasons for her not to go had reigned over her. From a security standpoint alone, it was utterly foolish. It was impossible to arrange a trip on such short notice. The crown kept no staff at all on the island during the winter season. The house would be unheated, dirty and completely abandoned and the forthcoming fall weather would make this a most uncomfortable stay for her.

No matter. She had insisted, ordering him to make the arrangements. The shocked look on his otherwise expressionless face had been enough to tell her the outrageousness of her demands. Traveling to a secluded summerhouse that had stood unused for years in the middle of November was crazy in many respects, and yet she knew in her heart that it was the sanest decision she had made in along time. The aching need to let go of what never could have been hers, what she could never change, had only grown stronger the last few days, but the need to reclaim what was rightfully hers was even stronger. This house, and all the memories it held, belonged to her. No matter how painful some of those memories were, they were hers. She hoped that here, standing somewhere between the truth and the dream, she would find what she needed to once again touch what she had left behind.

It had been a rough crossing, but with every roll of the sea her conviction had grown stronger; the need to revisit a place she had thought she had lost growing as sure and steady as the wind.

The house, cold, dirty and unfriendly, had felt like a hard punch in the stomach when she first walked through the door. Regret and guilt at neglecting it for so long had washed over her as she walked through the empty rooms. By old habit she had ended up at the kitchen window, where she had a perfect view of both the extensive grounds of the property and the beach below.

Although the house was different now, she could still sense the essence of this place. Somewhere beyond the cold and the dark, the summers of warmth and light were embedded in every part of its structure. The memories, sounds, smells and dreams of their life here sat in the walls. They came to her in quiet whispers rather than the loud and frightening assault she had feared. They were not a haunting ghost of the past but rather a gentle caress, a soothing warmth on her cold skin. In the candlelight, she saw the familiar shadows of those who belonged here, their voices echoing in the sound of the rain on the window pane.

Beneath the smell of dust, mothballs and old furniture, there was a hint of that strange combination of sweet-smelling flowers and the sea that she always had associated with this place. Despite the dampness that autumn brought, it still smelled like summer; early morning swims, treasure finding on the beach, ripe strawberries in the fruit garden and midnight strolls on the grounds.

Philippe had taken his first steps right here in this room. After months of worrying and talking with different experts who all had different theories as to why the little prince hadn't yet walked, it seemed that all he had needed was a summer of freedom to surprise them all one early Sunday morning.

Out there on the soaking wet porch she had taught the boys their first words of French while Rupert, not one to use his school French himself, had been on the phone with the French prime minister. Joseph had always accompanied them on their summer stays, and true to his nature, had stuck to more practical lessons, sharing his wisdom in the finer points of life, such as fishing. In the end of course, his lessons had been far more rewarding than hers .She doubted that the boys knowledge in French verbs had ever had any great impact on their contribution to dinner. Heaven help her heart; she missed the smell of fresh fish on the grill as the sun set.

In the doorway leading into the drawing room, the cuts in the doorpost where the boys had measured how much they had grown every year were still visible, and she had refused every suggestion to have the doorpost repaired. They hadn't stopped measuring until both boys had grown taller than their mother, which to her seemed to have happened over night. One minute they were so young that she worried it wasn't safe for them to play alone on the beach, and the next they stood shyly in front of her, asking if it would be okay to bring their girlfriend to the island for a few days. Where had all those years gone?

Slowly something made itself heard over the wind and the rain, reaching beyond the voices that filled her mind. It was a shrill and disharmonious sound, intrusive and growing louder and louder until it scattered her thoughts completely, chasing away the images in her head. It took her a while to place the sound, before her eyes landed on the phone in the hall. The light signaling the direct line to the gatehouse was blinking insistently at her in the darkened room.

She should have known. She had been here for well over four hours now, and she hadn't even switched on the lights. She could see why that would bother Shades, of course. She was sure that the man, beyond his stony face, bit his fingers daily just worrying about all the things that could go wrong. If she would ever try to engage him in conversation beyond absolutely necessary details, she might know that about him, and assure him that there was no need to worry about her. She had never gotten around to asking him. Or maybe she just didn't care enough to make the effort. What a sad commentary she thought, not even caring enough to ask.

Sighing deeply she padded across the floor, feeling her very expensive and delicate pantyhose, not at all appropriate for those surroundings, tearing and catching on the uneven surface of the wooden floor.

"Alright, alright I am coming," she murmured at the blinking light, the only thing guiding her in the right direction in the pitch black house. "Just give me…Damn it!" The ringing was momentarily forgotten as her foot rammed into the threshold with a painful thud.

Cursing to herself, she reached down and rubbed her sore toes, icy cold and aching under her fingers. Had there always been a threshold there? Had she, during these few years of absence, become so out of tune with this house that her body no longer knew every room and every hallway by heart?

"Yes, Shades, what can I do for you?" Clarisse sighed, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she continued to rub her foot. "I am still alive, if that's what you're wondering. No need to worry."

There was a momentary pause, the sound of static on the line reminding her of the storm raging outside. Clarisse straightened up, raising a brow. "Shades?"

"Very well, Your Majesty, but I'm afraid there is another reason for my call." Shades sounded somewhat hesitant, giving himself another moment before he continued. "I apologize for disturbing you further tonight, Your Majesty, but you have a visitor."

" Now?" Clarisse asked in disbelief. "But who could possibly know I'm here?" Turning her head towards the window and staring out into the darkness, she could just barely make out the shape of the large iron gate next to the lighted gatehouse. Slowly, as her eyes focused, a shadow took form, looming on the other side of the closed gate. There was something familiar about the tall figure, waiting stoically in the rain for her permission to enter, not even swaying in the strong winds. Gradually, as slowly and unnoticeably as water turning to ice on a lake on a cold winter's night, realization seeped into her mind. The knowledge built within her, causing a small tremor to run through her.

"Clarisse." His voice on the crackling line made her jump, the tremor inside of her growing stronger. Her heart beat like a drum inside her chest. Her face white as snow, she put down the receiver without saying a word. The voice repeating her name echoed in the silence around her.

---

He waited, ignoring the strong gush of wind blowing past him, nearly knocking him off balance in its strength. It was biting his skin, his face growing numb, but he held his ground, listening.

There was nothing, nothing but the sound of static on the intercom. He held his breath. Shades was watching him, with something he refused to acknowledge as pity. She wouldn't turn him away, not having come all this way to see her.

Shades, standing safely sheltered under the roof, waited, too. For a second Joseph tore his attention away from the intercom, studying the man who had become his successor. He was polite, correct and helpful as always, but he could read in his attitude that he didn't find it very likely that the queen would grant him an audience tonight.

He was just about to open his mouth and speak her name into the intercom again when he heard the click on the other end, the line dead. She had hung up. Suddenly it all seemed too much, his shoulders slumping as the strain and exhaustion of the last 48 hours hit him.

"Well, it was worth a try," Joseph stated. He tried not to let the paralyzing disappointment he felt running through his veins show as he spoke to his former employee. The man knew. Of course he knew. He knew far more than his sense of good conduct would ever allow him let on. There would be no questions asked, and for that Joseph was eternally grateful.

"Won't you come in sir? There will be no more boats leaving tonight." Shades spoke in a low voice, not embarrassing either of them further by letting the sympathy he felt for his former chief shine trough in his question. He held too much respect for the man to in any way let on that he knew what had just transpired.

"Thank you, Shades, I will be in in a second." His voice echoed hollow and without conviction, but Shades accepted his words for what they were, simply nodding his understanding and returning inside, shutting the door behind him.

Numbness slowly spread through him. Everything seemed pointless and overwhelmingly empty. In the last 48 hours he had barely slept or eaten. The letter she had written, every last sad, guilt-ridden line had been the only thing on his mind.

Hours upon hours on a plane that only took him as far as London. Five hours more waiting and then another plane, another uncomfortable seat, another faceless stewardess offering refreshments that tasted of nothing to him. All he had been able to think of was that she needed to know the truth, the whole awful, frightening truth.

Without the truth, she would forever be bound in chains by what she believed. And so would he. There wouldn't be a place on earth where the knowledge of what he had left her thinking wouldn't follow him.

Finally getting to Genovia, he had been exhausted, both physically and mentally but he had kept going. For just a second he had reveled in the feeling of being home, passing the streets that he knew, places he remembered. And then it had hit him like a cold shower, standing in the middle Charlotte's warm, familiar room just outside Clarisse's office. She wasn't there.

More hours of travel; this time in a rental car to the coast. And then that God awful hour on the motorboat, with the disgruntled shipman assuring him that he was damn well insane for insisting on going out to the island in this weather. His absolute need to do this had kept him going and now here he was, in the cold, rainy night. Alone.

---

In the silence the loud ringing made her jump, startled by the shrill sound. It roused her from the frozen state she had been in since she hung up the phone, every nerve in her body tensing, signaling danger. If she ignored him, would he eventually give up? Her heart, despite her own objections, knew better. Slowly she reached for the phone, her hand shaking.

"Clarisse?!" His voice sounded ragged and surprised, speaking a little louder than needed to be heard over the wind. "I need to talk to you."

Why now? Why tonight? Why did he have to come here and reopen old wounds when she was finally at a point where she could allow them to heal? Couldn't he allow her to move on? This thing between them, this feeling that once had made her feel so alive had somehow become nothing but a curse to them, a toxic, vial potion. And that wasn't how she wanted to remember it. She just wanted to hold on to the good times. No more resentment, no anger, no guilt, no pain. Just memories.

Joseph continued, interrupting her thoughts once again. "It's about Philippe."

For a moment her heart stopped, her chest tightening. Philippe.

Slowly, as if walking on broken glass she moved closer to the window, staring out into the darkness. She could see him standing at the end of the drive, completely still, waiting.

Shivering, she drew a deep breath, closing her eyes for just a second. It felt almost like a dream, as if she was moving in slow motion in a silent bubble where all the sounds and sensations from the outside world were muted.

The words came out almost against her will. "Open the gate."

They were the only words she uttered, a small tremor in voice. Hanging up the phone she found her shoes somewhere in the dark room and put them on. Her hand found the lock on the door and she turned it with a small click. In an instant, she was forcefully shaken out of her dreamlike state as a wave of icy cold rain showered her face. The strong wind yanked the door out of her hand and banged it against the side of the house. It was a rude awakening, but one she needed. She squared her shoulders, and held her head high as she stepped out into the rain. Her hair blew around her and the wind tore at her clothes, as her green skirt whirled around her legs.

The ground beneath her feet was full of puddles, forming small streams in the gravel. The path was covered in a treacherously slippery carpet of wet leaves, but she didn't look down. She kept her eyes steady on the gate, watching it open before her at the end of the long drive as she walked. One stride and then another. Closer. The wind roared, screamed at her. She kept going, her heart beating loudly in her ears. She was soaked through, her sweater drenched and sticking to her like a cold, wet blanket as she moved. She blinked away the rain in her eyes, another stride and then she stopped, her eyes meeting his.

It seemed like an eternity since he had last laid eyes on her and for a moment he forgot why he had come in the first place, why he was no longer allowed to walk up to her and take her in his arms, shielding her from the wind that made her shiver in her wet clothes. Her eyes meeting his, so guarded and wary, was enough to remind him.

Dear God, he thought. How can I tell you what I have to? My love, my life, where do I even being to find the words?

Somehow, as if spoken by someone else, the words left his mouth. "The night that Philippe died…there is something I should have told you...a long time ago. I could never bring myself to do it." He paused, watching her sway slightly, because of his words or the strong gush of wind blowing past them, he didn't know. She squared her shoulders, her face ghostly white.

"It wasn't just the ice on the road…or the sharp curve…" He paused again, fighting to get the words past his lips, desperately trying to remember all of the excuses he knew by heart; all the conditions which the godforsaken newspapers had speculated were contributing factors to the accident for so many weeks afterward. "It wasn't Philippe driving too fast in a car he wasn't yet familiar with…"

She stayed silent. Waiting.

"It was me."

His last words came as a raspy whisper, the admission of guilt made him sick to his stomach, a wave of nausea coursing through him.

Clarisse stood completely still, his words hitting her like sharp, painful stabs in her chest. Like an image passing by she remembered the hours, the long days after the crash; the explanations, the speculation and accusations of the press and the public echoing in her head. She had walked around in a daze, not caring enough to make any statement at all about what had happened. The roads in this country had been neglected for years, some said. It was only a matter of time before something dangerous happened.

The bad weather, heavy rain showers mixed with hail and snow, and the rapidly falling temperature were nothing that could have been prevented, others said. If only he had driven more slowly, more sensibly. Some even went as far as blaming the secretary general who had approved Philippe purchasing the car.

To her it didn't matter, it was all speculation. He was dead, gone, and nothing would ever change that.

"Joseph…" She started but trailed off, unsure of exactly what it was he had just said and what it meant. Why he had sought her out on a night like this to talk about Philippe's death, she couldn't begin to understand. It left her with an eerie feeling, like they were disturbing spirits that should be left in peace. The thought caused her to shiver involuntary, her voice unsteady. "Joseph the accident report freed you of any…"

"No! Let me finish." The words came out a little too sharp, a little too angry and she reacted immediately, her body tensing. "Please…..let me finish this, Clarisse."

His voice trembled, as he desperately tried to keep his composure. He couldn't bear hearing her mention the report. He had read it hundreds of times. Just thinking of all the possible causes of death contained in the damn incident report that internal affairs had conducted after the accident caused bile to rise in his throat. What did they know and what right had they had in freeing him from any responsibility?

"I need to do this, Clarisse. I need to get it out."

His intensity scared her, the dark undertone in his voice unfamiliar to her. The memories of that time washed over her now with a sudden rush that left her weak and unable to speak. They had never spoken of that night; of the accident, of the details of Philippe's death. Not because she hadn't wanted to know. She had been desperate to understand what had happened. She had begged him to talk to her. She had wanted him to tell her that Philippe hadn't suffered; that his death was quick, painless. But the massive pain she could see in his eyes and his continued silence told her that he didn't want her to know, that he couldn't say those words, that it must be even worse than she imagined. And so in time she had stopped asking. She stopped imagining the final awful moments of her son's life. She had wanted to spare them both the pain of reliving the nightmare of those days.

After the funeral, after the surgery to repair his badly damaged legs, she had spent hours by his bedside at the hospital, wanting to give him time to process what had happened, but also desperately needing his comfort, his arms around her to help her cope with her loss. She had needed his reassurance that she would survive this. It was the only place where she would allow herself to cry; and she had wept, oh, how she had wept. And yet he had remained strangely distant, almost afraid of her and her fragile state, denying them both what small comfort they might have found in each other.

And now all of the sudden he wanted to talk, he seemed desperate to, his eyes dark and haunted, pleading with her.

Almost unnoticeably she nodded, silently agreeing that she would listen.

---

_**Genovia, 3 years earlier:**_

"Your Majesty, the car is parked out front. Sir?"

He had to repeat the words in order for the Crown Prince to finally turn around and face him. As always, he was glued to his cell phone, overanalyzing small matters that may seem unimportant to anyone else, but to him they mattered. He raised his finger towards Joseph, beckoning him to wait just one more minute.

From behind the hard wooden desk, a tired, yet amused voice came traveling through the air. "He's just like his father, always needing to take care of one last detail. Exhausting, isn't it?"

Joseph chuckled as he looked at the Queen, who was sitting behind her desk that was piled up with documents. He took a few steps in her direction, speaking softly so the Crown Prince wouldn't hear it. "I had anticipated this. Actually the car is still on its way but should be there when we finally leave."

Her smile was evident when she took off her reading glasses. "You're a smart man Joseph."

He winked and smiled at her, but when she diverted her gaze to return her attention to the pile of paperwork his smile faded out. Her face was a bit pale, her eyes less vital than usual.

"I have a suggestion…" he said, clearing his throat, "Since you won't be attending this dinner party with the president of Spain, why don't you retire early this evening?"

He inhaled deeply when she looked up at him with a glitter in her eye. "Do I look _that_ tired Joseph?" she asked, smiling teasingly.

"Not at all," he said, a little too soon, and she chuckled softly in response. She was teasing him he realized. There it was again, that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Every time she laughed he felt it. "But since you decided not to accompany your son this evening, I just thought…"

"…that I needed a good night rest." Slowly she rubbed her temple, sighing deeply. "You're right, I'm afraid that I am a little tired."

"I saw you taking a few painkillers earlier," he said softly and she looked up at him, a surprised look in her eyes.

"I have a slight headache. But I didn't know I was being watched," she said with a soft smile. "Makes me wonder what else you see…"

"Nothing but a very lovely lady, I assure you…" he smiled back, feeling how his heart skipped just an extra beat. If only she knew how blessed he felt for being able to look at her for hours with permission.

A soft blush drew across her cheeks, getting deeper in color as he held on to her gaze, and finally she diverted her face.

He felt shaky. Deep down he always felt it when she wasn't feeling well – he would see it in her eyes, the complexion of her skin, and it always left him with a cold sensation in his stomach, an uneasy feeling at that. Until he was convinced that she was back to her sparkling self, he wouldn't be able to relax. It was a strange realization, very unsettling at times, but it was true.

"Eh…Are you taking the Aston Martin?" she then asked, not looking up again.

He cleared his throat, noticing in the corner of his eye that the Crown Prince had finally finished his phone call and was observing them silently. For how long, he wondered. "Yes. Your son requested so."

"All right, let's get this over with." Philippe turned towards him and Joseph straightened up, folding his arms before him. Clarisse got up too, walking towards her son to straighten his tie for him. Joseph smiled at the familiar sight, no matter how old her son would get, she would never break the habit of nurturing him.

"Mother, you go to bed early you hear?" Philippe said as he patiently waited for her to finish. "If your headache won't settle I want you to call Dr. Preston. Also if your fever increases again."

Fever? Joseph frowned. She hadn't mentioned anything about a fever.

Her hands worked quickly and when she was finished she patted her son's chest. "Nonsense darling, I'm fine. Send my apologies to President Zapatero again please."

"Will do. Joseph, let's go. Goodbye mother, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye darling."

---

"And that was the last time I saw him alive," she whispered. She could not grasp what was happening, why he was bringing all of this back to her. It was as if she could see herself again, seeing her son off, feeling the desperate need to scream to herself not to let him go.

"I know..." He could barely say it, feeling how the guilt washed over him, drenching him even more than the violent rain. "I was so worried about you that day."

Her face was still as white as paper, almost transparent. "Joseph, what does me having a headache have to do with..."

He inhaled deeply. "Let me go on..."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Genovia, 3 years earlier:**_

Joseph could hardly hear the engine as he moved to the next gear, turning the steering wheel with an ease as if he was floating on water. Soft music played on the full automatic stereo system and he smiled when he only had to touch the display in order to skip to the next song.

"I have to hand it to you sir, you have good taste in cars," Joseph said, looking in the rear view mirror.

"It cost me a bloody fortune, but it's worth every dime isn't it?" Philippe grinned. I tell you, I'd rather take her for a spin rather than going to this dreadful dinner party. And I have to make a speech, too, for God's sake. She's much better at that than I ever will be." He continued typing on his laptop, frowning at it when the low sound of a system error was clearly heard.

Joseph smiled. Philippe Renaldi was a good many things: a loyal son, a devoted Crown Prince with his heart in the right place, a business man with an eye for foreign affairs. He was all that, but he was also an impatient man who detested wasting time. Sitting down at a dinner table for hours, surrounded by dozens of people with whom he had to make small talk, easily bored him. One of Philippe's many statements was that when doing something, he would never get those hours back. So he'd better do things that made him, or at least someone close to him, happy. Life was too fragile, he always said. How true was that, in light of what was about to happen.

"But, since mother wasn't feeling well I offered to go alone," Philippe then said, closing his laptop with a frustrated sigh.

Joseph pressed his lips together, glancing in the rear view mirror again. There it was again, that sting in his stomach. "What's wrong with her?" he asked after slight hesitation.

Philippe frowned as he glanced outside to the heavy rainfall. "She's just being mother, she works too hard. Stubborn lady that she is."

"I know," Joseph said, taking a right at the end of the road. "That would explain the headache. But you don't get a fever from working hard."

"That's what I said." Philippe turned in the back seat again, taking something from his briefcase. "It's probably a virus or something that's been bugging her lately. She'll be all right. God such nasty weather!"

The knot in his stomach tightened. "Shouldn't we call a doctor then?" Joseph asked, frowning as he gazed at the Crown Prince again. "Surely we can't take a risk with her health."

He could bite his tongue when Philippe looked directly at him and raised a brow. "We?"

He shook his head almost invisibly, secretly scolding himself. "I mean..."

"You mean..." Philippe started as he leaned forward, "you mean that the well being of my mother is on your mind a lot. I noticed that."

His heartrate doubled. "Naturally, she's our Queen..." He tried to sound casual, yet the lighter his tone, the more forced he sounded.

Philippe nodded but his small smile didn't escape Joseph's attention. "Yes she is. And she works very hard. It hasn't been easy for her, these past two years since my father passed away."

"I know." His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. "But she's getting back on her feet. She's a strong woman."

Phillipe's smile grew wider. "That she is. And she's stubborn. Outspoken. Pig-headed sometimes. And very confident."

He couldn't not speak up. "She's not as confident as she should be."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if she knew how loved she is, she wouldn't have all these doubts. The way she pulled herself together after the death of the King has been more than admirable, to say the least."

"True..."

"She's loyal, kind, sincere..."

"Yes..."

"Loving, perceptive, caring..."

"And lonely," Philippe said in a sudden serious tone.

Silence fell. His stomach seemed to turn inside him. Lonely. She was lonely. Suddenly he felt the need to deny it, to say that it wasn't true, to say that she was perfectly happy with how things were going. But then, in his mind he saw her pale skin, those sad eyes, that tensed mouth when she thought nobody was watching her...and then realization hit him. Of course she was lonely. And maybe that was the reason why he kept searching for her at unexpected times, or why he felt the need to touch her every time they spoke – to make her feel better, to see her smile. That wonderful, glorious smile he adored. With a shock he realized that the Prince was waiting for his answer. "Anyway, you should be proud of your mother."

Philippe nodded in the mirror, looking at him. "I am. She's one hell of a lady."

He felt it in his knees, he was losing grip, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel more forcefully. "Yes." His voice was hoarse he noticed, so he cleared his voice. "That's why I keep saying that she needs to protect herself. There's so much that could harm her..."

"And that's where you come in, don't you Joe?"

He couldn't respond, he just couldn't. He felt blocked, as if someone had tackled him. That suggestive voice in the back, he could only hope and pray that he read too much into it. That what he was feeling wasn't at the surface for everybody to see. He had been succesful in hiding it for years, there could be no way that anyone could know.

"Not that it's any of my business, but lately she has that smile back on her face. And a little colour on her cheeks."

The voice of Philippe sounded amused, something that made him feel more and more uncomfortable by the second. He smiled nervously. "Fever tends to do that."

"Nonsense Joseph. I think you know why mother is smiling again."

His heart started beating in his throat and his hands gripped the steering wheel even stronger. This wasn't suggestive anymore. The Crown Prince knew. Dear god, he knew. Suddenly his mind was filled with questions, one even more unsettling than the other. How long had he known? Did he talk about it with his mother? Did she know? But he couldn't talk about it, he couldn't show more than he already did. "Sir, will all due respect..." He didn't dare to look behind him anymore, kept his eyes fixated on the road.

"A blind man could see it in her eyes," Philippe continued. "And you're not so subtle either with that little speech you just made."

He could only pretend that he hadn't heard what the Prince just said, yet his voice trembled as he spoke. "Your Majesty, we're almost there. Maybe you should try to work on your speech now."

His plan worked. "Oh bother. My bloody speech," was the last thing he heard before the Crown Prince hid behind his laptop again.

---

"He knew?" Her voice was hoarse, ragged.

"Clarisse, let me..."

"HE KNEW?!" she exclaimed, taking a few hesistant steps in his direction.

He swallowed, feeling how tight his throat was. "Yes."

She turned, she could no longer face him and she walked away from him. Her trembling, ice cold hands came up to her face, covering both her teary eyes. Philippe knew about her feelings for Joseph? He could see it in her eyes, and yet he hadn't talked about it with her? Not one word? "Why didn't..." She was whispering, she knew it, yet she couldn't speak out loud.

He came closer, just enough to hear her better, not daring to touch her. She was soaking wet, he saw that now, she was shivering in the pouring rain. "What did you say Clarisse?"

"Why didn't I know?" she repeated, sounding stronger now. " What did my son know, and why did you never talk about this with me?"

"If you let me explain, I can..."

She was speaking softly now, almost pleading with him. Suddenly she turned around to face him again, her eyes reflecting more frustration and confusion by the second. "And what does this have to do with what happened that night? Why are you telling me this Joseph?"

He wiped away the new drops of rain that fell on his cheeks, not noticing how warm they were. He swallowed. "I'm getting to that now."

---

_**Genovia, 3 years earlier:**_

He turned another page of his newspaper and took a sip of his, now very cold, coffee, frowning at the news that spread out before his eyes. With a sigh he folded it and put it aside on the seat next to him. Why he even bothered to try and read it he had no idea, all he could think of was the talk he just had with the Crown Prince of Genovia.

This was not supposed to happen. He hadn't even seen it coming, he was that blind to the world around him apparantly. His love, his desire. Clarisse. His most guarded and most intimate secret.

There was no point in denying it. He felt it in every fiber of his body that he was head over heels in love with her. He was hypnotized by her beauty, addicted to her voice. He loved her body, mind and soul with his entire being. He could not stay away from her, couldn't resist her and everything about her. It had been haunting him since day one, thoughts of her and only her, his image of perfection that had come to life. The woman he admired, desired, and most of all loved beyond the shadow of a doubt. Being with her day by day was heavenly torture and he couldn't deny that it hurt at times, yet he cherished the sweet bliss of loving someone. She held his heart in his hands without even knowing it, she and only she had the power to mend or break it – and she would never know it. Or so he had thought until tonight.

He thought he would be able to guard himself. He thought that he would be able to handle it, the sudden rush of warm feelings that had took him by surprise that day so long ago at an embassy ball -- the day he had first realized how he felt.

He thought that he would be able to control his body, regarding the nerves that shot through him when she asked him to dance with her. He thought nobody had seen the tremor in his hands when he touched her. He thought he had succeeded. Obviously that only existed in his head.

He covered his eyes, shaking his head slowly. And now the Crown Prince, her own flesh and blood, knew about his secret and not only that, he had even mentioned the slight possibilty that she might feel the same way about him. The thought alone made his head spin and his stomach turn. Could it be true?

There had been signs though, signs of warm feelings on her side. He felt the electricity sparkle in the air when they were together. He noticed that when he looked at her for too long, a soft blush would appear on those gorgeous cheeks. She would always, always seek his company during a party, asking him to escort her to the dance floor at least once. She would smile when his eyes found hers during a boring opening of yet another museum. She would whisper a joke in his ear to lighten his mood when he was angry with one of the members of his staff.

He pressed his nails in his hand. Could it be a possibility? Would he ever be allowed to tell her that every night, all through the night, he thought of her and only her? Sometimes at night, when he dreamed of the feeling of her lips upon his, the image was so vivid that he couldn't imagine that he was the only one. There had even been nights in which he nearly had broken; in which he wanted to run towards her, take her in his arms and kiss her as if there were no tomorrow.

With a frown he placed down his empty coffee cup and closed his eyes in frustration. Was there a light at the end of the tunnel? Could there ever be a place and a time for them? Maybe he could try to find out. The thought alone made him shiver and he shook his head. He couldn't. He shouldn't.

The knock on his window startled him and he looked aside, staring right into the eyes of the man he was supposed to escort outside. Within a second he was out of the car, holding back a curse with great difficulty. "Oh I apologize sir, I lost track of the time."

Philippe waved away his comments, an amused glitter in his eye as he looked at him. "Don't worry, I'm a bit early. Thank god by the way."

"Let me open the door..." He swallowed back his words when Phillipe didn't walk to the back door but stayed in the front of the car, nodding with his head at Joseph. "Sir?"

"Take a seat Joe, I'll show you how to drive a car like this."

He frowned. "Sir, I really don't think..."

"Now don't make me use that dreadful expression _'That's an order'_ all right? Enjoy being the passenger for once." With those words Philippe got in the car, waiting for Joseph to sit down on the passengers seat. With a satisfied groan he closed his fingers around the soft leather of the steering wheel. "That's better."

Joseph couldn't hold back a smile, he couldn't deny that he understood His Majesty's wish to drive his own car. If it had been his own, he wouldn't want anyone else to drive it. "Very well, lead the way sir."

For a while they didn't speak, they enjoyed the ride in silence. Joseph stared outside the window, breathing slowly, hearing the rain coming down on the roof, watching the wiper blades going up and down, wiping away cold streams of sleet and wet snow. The rate of snow and sleet had increased significantly during the course of the dinner, he noticed. Several inches of new snow already covered the road.

"So..."

Joseph looked aside, raising a brow. "So...?"

"How is mother doing?"

He looked ahead, feeling his stomach turn inside him. The man simply wouldn't let go, would he? Phillipe had known that he would make a phonecall to Charlotte while he was away , checking up on the health of the Queen. "A little better," he said anyway, turning his head to stare at the wet snow that covered the road and the trees they passed. It was really coming down out there.

After a long pause, he heard Philippe inhale deeply. "Joseph, why don't you tell her how you feel? Why not tonight? Why wait?"

He closed his eyes, not willing to listen, not willing to answer. "Your Majesty..."

"Scared?"

He shook his head and yet he couldn't go on. Denying his fear of rejection was one thing, denying his love for her seemed nothing short of impossible. It would be a lie, the biggest lie he had ever spoken. And he knew that he had to say something regarding this subject, the discussion had gone beyond making up excuses now.

"I can't."

There, he said it. And now his stomach was tying itself in a knot. He had admitted, out loud, with no way to take it back, that he loved the Queen of Genovia. He just told nobody less than her son, her own flesh and blood, that he was in love with her. And yet it was a relief, to say the words out loud, to share it with someone at last.

Philippe's expression was neutral, no shock or surprise present in his eyes. "Why can't you tell her?"

Joseph turned to gaze outside again, staring ahead without saying anything. He had heard no rejection towards the idea of him and his mother... he couldn't even grasp it. He had to admit that it meant more to him than he had realized at first, in his wildest fantasies he had only thought of _her_. Her reaction, her feelings, her emotions – when there were so many other people to take into consideration. Her son being the most important one. And that son was encouraging him to speak to her, to tell her how he felt about her. He just more or less gave his blessing. And that realization turned him upside down, shaken up by so many emotions. He felt a failure, for breaking, for showing his emotions that were meant to stay hidden forever. But he couldn't deny that most of all, he felt a glorious sensation of hope. Hope he shouldn't have.

He hesitated, took a gulp of air, then he sighed deeply. There was one question burning inside him, getting stronger, forcing its way out. He shouldn't ask. But he did.

"Do you think she suspects something?" He held his breath; he felt like a teenager again, requesting information from a girl's best friend. Back then he wasn't too confident regarding women, but that was nothing compared with the anxiety in which he waited for an answer right now.

Philippe seemed to think about it. A few very slow seconds ticked by. Then he smiled. "We haven't discussed it directly, if that's what you're asking. Mother is very private as you well know; she wouldn't discuss her love life with her son. And I don't blame her."

He exhaled slowly, seeing how his breath fogged the window. "Right."

"But that doesn't mean I can't see when my mother has found a source of happiness again. A pretty clear source, if you ask me."

With wide open eyes he turned, feeling his confusion grow bigger with the second. His voice was trembling now, almost desperate. "I never said anything to her. Sir, I never did anything...I mean I respect her too much to..." He stopped, not knowing how to finish.

Philippe smiled. "I know that you respect her Joseph. And she knows it. And still she responds to you in a very special way. That's why I think you should tell her."

He laughed, he couldn't help it, a cold, humorless laugh. "Sir with all due respect, it's not my place to tell her that I..." He shook his head, not able to speak the words and he turned his face again, away from the kind and encouraging eyes of the Prince. "I mean, it would complicate everything."

Philippe laughed too, yet his laugh sounded amused. "Au contraire my good man, it would simplify everything. For you and for her."

Outside the wet snow fell down harder, soaking his window so he barely could look outside. It didn't matter though, he wasn't seeing anything but his own sorry reflection in the window. For a moment he contemplated it, the possibility of something he had never dared to express. It lived its own life in his fantasy, how he would tell her, where he would tell her, and how she would respond. In his mind, she would return the love he felt so strongly inside. In his imagination, she would be happy that he told her. But in reality...?? His hands formed fists. "But..."

"But what?"

His voice was weaker now, as if was clasping to the last piece of straw. "But I'm on duty. It's my duty to protect her, my duty to keep her safe and unharmed."

It was silent for a while and then he felt a hand on his shoulder, a friendly and supporting hand.

"I want my mother to be safe too. And I know no other person who would keep her more safe, than you. Perhaps it's time to consider the duty you have to yourself..."

Joseph stayed silent.

The pressure on his shoulder increased. "Trust me on this one, Joe. I know she'll want to hear what you have to say. What's the worst that can happen?"

Joseph held the Prince's gaze, as if needing to be convinced. Suddenly, he turned, looking beyond Philippe, in a split second noticing how dark the road ahead was. How white their surroundings. His scream came too late, the car made a sharp turn and before he had time to grasp what was happening, they had hit the tree with full force.

---

She was cold. Completely and thoroughly cold. Her entire being was frozen and her heart felt as if someone had stabbed it with an ice pick. She hadn't even noticed that she was covering her mouth with both hands. Slowly, she lowered them, they felt stiff. "Oh my god..." she whispered.

A sharp pain shot through him, as if a fist had hit him with a full blow. "I couldn't save him Clarisse, I tried, I did...but the tree was on his side of the car...he didn't stand a chance."

She turned, she had to get away from him, from the way he was standing there. Her hands came up again, covering her mouth once more. "Oh my god..." she repeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he said, his lips trembling, his hands clenching into fists. And then, after a few deep breaths, he broke. He covered his eyes, finally his tears formed into his eyes, coming down in warm streams. He cried soundly, he couldn't hold them back, not anymore, his pain and grief came out right there. Now that he was finally talking about it, it felt as if he couldn't stop. Suddenly the words kept coming, loud, desperate. "I should have paid more attention."

"No..." He barely heard her whisper and he removed his hands from his eyes, taking a step closer, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

"I allowed myself to get carried away. I distracted him. It was me, Clarisse. Me."

"No..." She was shaking her head, he saw it, as if she denying something with all her strength. He had to get through to her, she needed to hear this.

"I let you down in the worst possible way. All because..."

She turned, hot tears stinging in her eyes. "Joseph...please..."

"...I allowed myself to love you."

She gasped. And then it was silent. She could barely see, the rain was downright violent now, changing the ground underneath them into a muddy pool. And yet she didn't notice. Right before her, soaking wet from head to toe, trembling on his legs, crying silently, was the man she once loved more than life itself. The man who was able to brighten her day with just a wink and a smile. The man who was responsible for that oh so needed laughter during the day. But also the man who had left her without an explanation. And now he had turned her world upside down. She couldn't even grasp what he was saying.

"Joseph..."she started, but her voice had left her. She couldn't form a coherent sentence, she just kept trying to speak but she failed. "Joseph, why do you...what are you...why?"

"I took a vow once," he said, sighing deeply, yet his voice kept trembling. "I vowed that I would protect you from any harm. And I failed. I let my emotions overrule my duty."

"You failed..." She stupidly kept repeating his words, she wasn't able to think. Yet somewhere, somehow, something was screaming out to her in the deepest of her soul. If she listened very carefully, it said the word "no".

"I failed you. It was my fault. I was responsible for your losing one of the things you loved most in the world."

Silence fell again and he stood there, watching her. It was as if he saw her for the first time, the real her, drenched in ice cold water. Suddenly he realized how cold she must be, how much risk she was taking of getting sick. The old familiar urge to take care of her welled up in him but he closed his eyes for it. He wasn't allowed to, not anymore.

She tried to grasp what was happening, trying desperately to see it. It was as if all those years came flashing by before her eyes. Now it made sense to her. His behaviour in the hospital when she sought his comfort. His distance. All because of his feelings of guilt.

"I should never have let the Prince drive..."

She heard him speak, his tone desperate, she even heard what he said, yet she couldn't find her voice – she simply wasn't able to communicate. She was paralyzed, stunned to the bone. Now it made sense to her. The way he pulled away when she tried to talk about Philippe, when she said that she saw her son in Mia's eyes.

"I should never have made myself the object of the Prince's concern..."

But then they had begun to grow so close again. And their time in San Francisco...

Utter confusion filled her senses. If he felt guilty... She looked up, slowly. Never had she seen him like this, so full of despair.

"If I had been doing my job none of this would have happened." His voice trailed off when he met her gaze, he couldn't go on anymore.

Then, suddenly, she spoke to him. Seemingly calm. "Why did you leave me?"

"Why?" he repeated. He blinked when she took a few steps closer. Tears were in her eyes but they didn't fall, yet the corners of her mouth pulled slightly.

It hurt him physically, to see how cold she was, to realize the pain he had put her through. He wanted to comfort her, take her in his arms and cradle her until there would be no more pain for the both of them. But he couldn't.

When he didn't respond she came yet another step closer so she came to stand right in front of him. The tears that were first still in her eyes fell down now. "How could you leave me?" she whispered, searching for some kind of explanation in his eyes.

This question hurt him more than any pain he had yet experienced. Slowly, hesistantly, he reached out to touch her cheek. He was slightly surprised when she didn't pull away from him but leaned into his hand. He felt his own tears well up again and he bit his lip, swallowing them back, smiling carefully at her. "How could I have stayed?" he whispered, "I simply wasn't strong enough to resist you."

"But..." Her lips trembled as she looked at him with teary eyes, seeing her own emotions reflected on his face.

His own tears fell down now, blending with the drops of ice cold rain."It was my duty to protect you. And I let you down. How could I have stayed, falling more in love with you each day, hearing you say that you loved me back... when I didn't deserve it? You would hate me if you knew the truth, and no matter how much I loved you – I couldn't live with the thought that I put you through so much pain.""

She shook her head but he didn't release her face, forcing her to look at him.

"I couldn't be with you, not in the direction we were headed. The first year I stayed because I swore that no harm would ever come to you again, not on my watch. But then you reached out to me, and I...," he drew a shaky breath, "...I couldn't handle that."

She closed her eyes in despair, this was too much for her to grasp all at once. Slowly she reached out to take his hands, removing them from her cheeks. "I can't do this anymore."

"Clarisse..." His voice was creeping into a begging tone, he heard it himself, yet he couldn't hold it in. "I'm so, so sorry."

Her smile was sad, full of regret and she nodded at him before she took a few steps backwards. "I know Joseph. So am I."

_TBC..._


	13. Chapter 13

_Well...here we are. It's time to say goodbye to our story. It's been a long long looooooooooong road, full of obstacles such as oh -- a pregnancy, pneumonia, an (almost royal) engagement, the forum, the website, a private life, parents, sisters, friends... and so on and so on. _

It took us long to update, we know that, we apologized for that time and time again -- but we're here, delivering the final part of this story.

It's given us a lot of joy to write this for you, and it gave us an immense pleasure to read how you felt after reading it. We're sure we don't deserve all this praise, although it gave us wings at time we needed it, and we're incredible grateful that we have such wonderful, loyal readers like all of you.

Dearest readers, let us take you to the final chapter of Worlds Apart. Joseph and Clarisse had their big confrontation and it's time to set things straight for once and for all. Is there still a chance for them? Are they strong enough to hold on? Strong enough to let go? Read and find out... 

_----_

It stung everywhere, a million needles piercing her skin as she gently lowered herself into the bathtub, gasping as the warmth of the water enveloped her. The smoldering fluid swirled around her. Slowly and painfully the feeling in her numb limbs was returning, making her icy cold fingers ache. Finally, warmth.

She didn't know how she had managed to ignore the cold, the rain, the wind assaulting her skin. All she had registered was his words, scared to death by their ability to shatter her world. All she had been able to do listen.

It wasn't until she closed the front door behind her that she realized she was shaking, unable to control the quivers running through her body, her frozen limbs refusing to obey her.

As if working on autopilot, only performing the most necessary of tasks, she had found her way to the bathroom and filled up the bathtub. Forcing her fingers to move she had struggled with the small clasps and buttons on her clothes, peeling the soaking garments off her body and leaving them where they fell on the floor. Her only conscious thought was to get warm.

Now the shaking had stopped, reduced to merely a small tremor inside of her that made her pulse thready, her breath shallow and her movements uneven. Her color was gradually returning, the pale white floating into translucent blue replaced with a scolding red.

She sank down deeper, submerged herself completely in the water with eyes closed, tilting her head to one side and tiredly letting it rest against side of the old bathtub. If she at some point in her life would have had any medical training she would have told herself that her body had gone into shock, having been wired up and focused on nothing but surviving she was now gradually coming down from the adrenaline high, exhaustion threatening to overpower her now that the danger had passed.

But it hadn't passed, her mind was fighting her need for peaceful oblivion, calling to her over the warm haze not to relax, not to let her guard down. If she did the thoughts would come, in the darkness around her they would come. If she let them. The questions. The doubts. The images.

The tap was leaking. Drops of water were falling in a slow steady rhythm, rippling the water surface with a small splash and echoing the sound of rain on the small frosted bathroom window behind her. The rain now had gradually turned into a mixture of water, ice and snow as the temperature dropped, coating everything in an uneven, hard armour of ice.

She tried to focus on the sound, the steady and even sound of water hitting water, trying to match her breathing to it, finding a pattern on which she could rely.

The visions that had once been figures of her imagination, a combination of facts, nightmares and probabilities, were now certain, cruel in their accuracy. They played over and over in her head, slowly becoming real and solid in her mind. Truth. Still there were uncertainties whirling within her, the danger she felt looming at the back of her mind edging closer.

Blame. Regret. She knew the words and she knew their power, their hold on her soul. Now she knew the power they held on Joseph, too, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't answer and reason enough. The knowledge clawed at her chest, dark and dangerous. It made anger and blame rise within her where just before, out there in the rain, there had only been sadness. Sadness that this was where faith had left them, the culmination of their own fears and desires nothing but resigned sorrow and regret.

Guilt. A belief that he had failed her. For so long he had made them into his own prison. To punish himself. To convince himself that this was all he could do, that he deserved it. Strong in his conviction that she would have hated him if only she had known. That he was protecting her. That this was all they could ever be. Lonely souls lost in memories, tired of crying, of fighting, of wanting. It wasn't who she wanted to be, who she wanted them to be. It wasn't how she wanted to remember them.

"Damn it Joseph!" She sat up so abruptly that the water washed over the edges of the tub, splashing onto the tiled floor, her head swimming at the sudden movement and reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink since she got there. Her voice echoing in the darkened room but there was no reply. No arms around her that she could fight, push at, fall into and let herself cry in. No whispered words to soothe her, no fingers running gently through her hair, telling her she would find her way. No one.

"Damn it…" she whispered, drawing her knees up and folding her arms around her legs, hugging herself close. She missed someone's arms around her, God she missed it. Drawing a shaky breath she bowed her head, surrendering to herself. "Damn it..."

----

Slowly sipping her tea she cradled the warm cup between her hands, savoring the strong and somewhat bitter taste of Earl Grey on her tongue. Her hair was still damp but now she was finally warm again, smelling softly of lavender from the bottle of forgotten bath oil she had poured in the water. It was a comforting smell, old and familiar, belonging to this place.

It was late now, or perhaps very early was the right word. The storm had, just as her momentary anger, lost its strength, slowly but steadily subsiding. It left her feeling drained, tired and fragile, as if she would break into a million pieces at the slightest touch. She was like a broken vase that had been carefully but back together, every shred of glass put back in its place to make it whole again. One unguarded movement and it would fall apart again before the glue had set.

Tomorrow morning I am going back home, she thought, fingering the worn floral pattern on the cup. There is nothing more for me here, no answers and no meaning to be found. I will find myself again, once I am back home I will be back on solid ground. Safe. I have so much to do, so many things I haven't done that I should have. The winter ball is coming up in less than a month and I haven't even looked at the guest list. Not to mention the menu, and the theme. We always have a theme. What had it been last year? Good Lord she should remember. Mozart? No that had been the year before that. Perhaps Charlotte knew. She would call her in the morning and ask.

She was busying her mind with meaningless details and she knew it. She was too old to not recognize her own defense mechanism. It would be so easy to let herself fall into her blissfully, unforgiving pile of work. It always provided a welcome armor against the things she didn't want to feel. Somehow the thought didn't calm her, a whispered voice deep within warning her that it wouldn't be so easy this time, it wouldn't be the absolution she needed. But if it wasn't, what would be?

Carefully, for the first time in a very long time, she really studied the perfect little flowers on the empty teacup in her hands, caressing it. It was an odd piece, not fitting in with the rest of the china and crystal at the palace, but she had kept it because it was her grandmother's and she hadn't had the heart to throw it away. It was hers, an odd little trinket from her childhood that had no real place in the life she had come to lead. She could have placed it in storage along with a few other things that hadn't accompanied her to the castle as a young queen but it had felt wrong to discard of it there simply because it had no room in her life. So she had brought it out here, along with a few paintings and a jewelry box that her grandmother had left her when she had died many years ago. Out here it didn't matter what fit and what didn't.

It was ironic, having been brought up as she was in a wealthy family with all the right connections and predestined to marry a prince, that she had been blessed with such a grandmother. She had been a quirky old lady, caring very little for social rules and high society. She was a collector of everything that could be found at a flea market, everything that had a history, a soul as she called it, and she took great pleasure in filling her home with what others would regard as useless junk.

This cup had been so dear to her. Her "fortune-teller cup" she called it, always brought out of the cupboard when the grand children came to visit. Her favourite past time had been amusing them by reading the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, claming it was a very old ability passed along to her from a long line of very wise women. Clarisse could clearly remember her sitting in her kitchen, patting the chair next to her for Clarisse to join her, and telling her she would read her her fortune.

Grandma Josephine had come up with a great many stories staring into this cup, but looking down into it now Clarisse found no leaves to read. No guidance to be found. If there had been would she have seen it? Unlike her grandmother she didn't have the gift to see what the universe wished to convey, she could only see what she wanted to see, what she needed to see, and she was now beginning to realize that it had cost her dearly.

Confusion still rattled her thoughts, so many unanswered questions, even more than before. Standing there face to face with him tonight, hearing his declaration of love, so unexpected, so many years too late. What did those words matter now?

Philippe had known, he said. The real question was; why hadn't she? Somewhere deep down she must have known. That small part of her that wasn't a mother, a queen, that part of her that was just a woman … that part of her had known. In every smile they had shared, in very glance and touch she had known.

But she had chosen not to see it. Because she didn't know how to handle it, because she wasn't quite brave enough to face it. Not until it was too late, until she stood there realizing what she had almost lost, what her life would have been without him in it if he had died, too. And by then he was already out of her reach. Everything she did to bring him closer, finally realizing how much she wanted him, how much she needed him, had only pushed him farther away from her.

How ironic it was to look back at one's life and at last see how it all fit together, how the choices she had made had saved her, or torn her apart.

That thought was too much for her to bear and she swiftly rose from the table, discarding the empty cup in the sink and drawing the satin robe closer around her. She couldn't go there. Not now. Maybe not ever. There were no second chances in this life. No way of going back and getting to do it differently. The painful truth she knew now wouldn't redeem her or bring meaning to what had happened.

It was many hours too early yet but as soon as dawn broke she would call Charlotte, get to work, and get back home as soon as possible.

This year's theme at the ball would be _"Winter Fairytales,"_ and she would make sure that it was the best theme they had ever had. Fake snow and ice made out of crystal decorating the tables, an ice sculpture of an angel at the center of the room, white curtains draped from the ceiling to create the illusion of being inside a castle made of snow.

Turning on the lamp in the living room, Clarisse moved to find her purse, searching for something to scribble notes on before she forgot anything. And her cell phone. She would call home and ask that Charlotte get in touch with her as soon as she got up.

Opening her purse, she rummaged through her belongings, her hurried fingers brushing against the soft leather of her wallet, a lipstick, hand wipes, a Mount Blanc pen, her pocket mirror. At last her fingers closed around the small phone. With a sigh she got up, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. There was only one matter to take care of.

She turned at the end of the living room, pacing in front of the windowdialing the number for the guardhouse with trembling fingers. And as she counted the times that she heard the signal, she mumbled the words softly.

"Is he still there?"

----

Her summons had come just a few minutes before. He had expected it. Expected it, and yet dreaded it with every ounce of his being. But to be fair, she deserved a chance to finally have her say. This was the end of the road. An ending that had eluded them both for much too long now. It was time.

The path before him was nothing but a muddy pool and he staggered, he had to be careful not to fall. He shivered in his still somewhat damp clothes. The rain had vanished in the few hours since they had spoken, but the temperature had reached the freezing point; tomorrow everything would be frozen solid.

He was exhausted, his mind numb from all the emotions that had come boiling to the surface in that short period of time that they talked. His eyes were still stinging from the tears he had shed, the tears he had prevented from falling down for all these years. And even though he thought he would feel relieved to have it all out, he felt burdened even more, as if he carried her pain now with him as well.

He sighed, walking in deliberate, slow paces, somehow hoping to postpone this final confrontation, however inevitable it might be.

He hadn't come here with the hope of reconciling things. He knew it was asking too much to expect her forgiveness – but there was always that last bit of hope that tugged somewhere deep down in his body. That last bit of hope that had always made him go on. Even while still working for her, and even when he left her and his heart behind. The hope that she would at least understand.

When he reached the front door he reached out to knock on the door, his heart beating in his throat. When his hand touched the solid wood he pushed it open easily, noticing that the door had been left open, waiting for him to come in.

"Clarisse?" he called, hesitantly so. Not a sound was to be heard. "Clarisse, are you in here?"

With a high squeaky and crackling sound, the door opened further and he stepped over the threshold into the dark hallway. There he turned to find a small stream of light, coming from a room close by. He smelled wood, leather, dust. The smell highlighted all the old memories that were stored in the walls of this house. He remembered it all, but he closed his eyes to it. He had remembered enough for one day.

Step by step he took, slowly, carefully, feeling he was intruding in a place he didn't belong to anymore. Yet he moved forward with soft, hollow sounding footsteps, finally reaching the source of light, hidden behind a heavy wooden door that stood ajar.

"Clarisse?" he tried again. Then, slowly, he pushed the door open and he couldn't hold back a small gasp when he saw her. She was standing in the middle of the dimly lit living room, looking right at him. She was wearing a light blue satin bathrobe, the fabric shiny and soft. It was a strangely cheerful color in contrast to both their moods. Her arms were folded around her stomach. With a sad sting in his heart he realized that she was protecting herself; protecting herself from him. It struck him how pale her skin was.

"I'm in here," she said softly, though unnecessarily.

"You sent for me," he said quietly, standing frozen in the doorway. It was a simple statement, rather than a question. He had no idea what to do, whether to go in or to stay there, whether to talk or to listen. So he stayed put, waiting. He had the feeling that she would do the talking this time.

The clock ticked away the few seconds they were standing there, gazing at one another. Then, she took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?" she said as she held on to his gaze.

"Yes," he said, feeling his emotions well up in his throat. Desperately he tried to pull himself together; there was no point in breaking once again. It would only upset her more.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to need security guards to provide your safety?" she asked, her voice low, yet strong.

He drew a shaky breath. "No."

"What it's like having to trust someone absolutely, completely? To accept it without question when you're summoned to put nothing less than your life in someone else's hands?"

He couldn't argue. "No."

She smiled, a sad, regretful smile, and she took a few careful steps in his direction. Now he saw that her eyes were still red and swollen. "What it's like to have someone with you for the biggest part of every single day of your life, watching your every move, wherever you go, whatever you do?"

His voice became hoarse as he studied her sad expression. "No."

"Sometimes it tightened my throat," she continued as she kept walking in slow paces, hugging herself even tighter. "Knowing that it would be like that forever more, knowing I would never be able to do anything spontaneously, never be able to venture outside without someone needing to protect me."

He sighed, feeling the urge to walk too but his feet stayed where they were, glued on the threshold. "I didn't know that…"

She shook her head as she came to stand in front of him. "You can't know what that's like because you don't live that life."

He didn't know what to say, he just stood there, looking at her.

"Just like I can't possibly know what it's like to carry that immense responsibility. The responsibility of protecting someone's life," she then said, almost whispering.

He felt a wave of nausea shoot through him. His responsibility. It had been his job to protect her, to protect them all.

"But when you learn to trust someone, it becomes easier, doesn't it?" she asked, almost as if she wasn't sure, her voice now more shaky and higher than usual. "You get used to being with someone. You grow accustomed to having this person in your presence, in your life. You expect them to be there, even _want _them to be there. You just…trust."

He swallowed, feeling how, despite his attempts to fight it, the now familiar lump in his throat was slowly forming again. Slowly he nodded but when she kept looking at him with those big, sad, bright blue eyes, he diverted his gaze.

He heard her sharp intake of breath and he lowered his head, hearing the words he deserved to hear. "I trusted you Joseph," she said, her voice thick. "I trusted you with all my heart…"

He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes, shaking his head, and feeling how his stomach seemed to turn inside him. His heart pounded in his chest with low, painful movements. "I know you did and I let you down and I'm so, so…" He drew a deep breath and pushed the last word out. "…Sorry…"

She was on the verge of crying, he heard it in her voice, the threatening tears made it tremble. "Why didn't you tell me back then?"

Now he couldn't do anything else but meet her gaze, her teary, pain-filled gaze. "How could I," he said, shaking his head slightly. "You had just heard that your son had passed away. How could I tell you that…" His voice trailed off and he looked above her, focusing on anything else but those eyes that had captured his heart since day one.

"…that you loved me?" she asked, losing her voice in a broken gasp. Her finger touched his chin, forcing him to look at her.

He shook his head. "I couldn't tell you that your son lost his life because of me……because of my feelings for you. It wasn't your burden to bear. It would have made it all even harder."

She blinked, her eyes filling up with tears once more. "Or maybe it would have made it easier." She was whispering now, shaking her head slightly. "Having someone who loves you never makes something harder."

His voice got desperate, he was losing grip. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, "I never meant any of this to happen. The last thing I wanted was to burden your soul even more. You had to deal with the loss of your son, that's what was most important. And it still is. That's why I couldn't tell you."

"So instead I lost you both." Her tears threatened to fall yet again, as she tried desperately to keep them in. Her lips trembled as she reached out to touch his cheek. "Why are you here now? Why did you come back?" Her thumb caressed his face, that loving face she knew so well.

Slowly he reached into his pocket, taking a folded piece of paper out of it. With a small gasp she recognized her own handwriting in the smudged ink on the paper. "My letter?"

"You blamed yourself for what went wrong between us," he said, shaking his head fiercely. "Clarisse I could live with the thought that you hated me, even though it tore me apart inside. I could live my life, knowing that you would be able to forget about me, about us. I could even live my life knowing that you thought I didn't love you enough to stay…"

She inhaled deeply, removing her hand from his cheek.

Carefully he folded the letter back into his pocket. He would probably keep it with him forever. "But I couldn't live with the knowledge that you blamed yourself for what went wrong between us."

Tears formed again in her eyes and she let them fall, tears from regret, for lost time, for all the weeks, months, years of wondering and doubting until she had finally found an answer for herself. An answer that now turned out to be not true. Then she looked up, seeing how his cheeks were wet too, not from the rain this time. Her voice sounded broken. "Did you really think that for one moment, I'd blame you for this accident? Did you have that little trust in me?"

He framed her face, feeling how her tears moistened his hands. "But I blame myself, don't you understand?" he whispered. "I didn't pay enough attention because I let my feelings overrule my reason. It wasn't about trust."

"Yes it is, because I trusted you," she whispered, desperately trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. "I trusted you with my life, with my son's life."

He lowered his hands and shook his head, once, twice, looking down to avoid her teary eyes.

"I betrayed that trust Clarisse."

The words came out, she spoke them out at the same moment she realized it. "Then why is it that I still trust you Joseph...?"

Silence fell and he stood in bewildered silence, for a moment doubting his senses. He looked up, carefully, to meet her gaze. She was smiling, yet tears streaked her face. Slowly she reached out, it was her turn to cup his cheeks now. "Do you hear me?" she said, her voice soft but urging.

His heart rate had doubled and a cold sweat appeared on his forehead in little drops. Yes, he heard her, God did he hear her, yet the words stunned him, making him want to hide inside her. He wanted to fall on his knees and put both his arms around her slim waist. He wanted to bury his face in her stomach, feeling her, smelling her, holding her. But slowly his hands came up, carefully placing them on top of hers and he closed his eyes. Although he knew what she had said, he still couldn't quite grasp it, if what he had just heard was really true.

"I think it's time that you started to trust yourself again." He heard her voice, soft and pleading, and then he turned his head slightly, pressing a single kiss in the palm of her hand.

It was like her body fell in a warm soothing, comforting bath, a glowing warmth spread through her cold veins, melting her frozen heart. She smiled at him as he opened his eyes, his teary, dark, familiar eyes. "It was an accident Joseph, an accident."

His head shook as if someone else did it for him. "But I…"

She slid her hand to his mouth, pressing lightly on his lips to stop him. "What if I had told you back then that I blamed myself for not going with him that night? That I believed that the accident would never have happened if I had just been there with him, as planned. I was supposed to be in that car, too, remember?"

His eyes widened and he wanted to protest, yet she didn't let him. Her grip became tighter, forcing him to listen.

"You know what you would have done? You would have told me that Philippe wouldn't have wanted me to blame myself." She swallowed. "He would have wanted me to live, not die with him."

He nodded, somehow that heavy foggy feeling in his head seemed to clear up a bit. "That's true."

She smiled, sighing deeply, touching both cheeks again. "And it's true for you, too."

They were quiet for a moment, still, gazing at one another. And as he stood there, feeling her warm soft hands holding his face, he felt it again. That warm sensation in his stomach, the fluttery feeling in his throat, his head, his entire being. His heart beat fast in his chest as she gazed at him, her eyes so close that he could see his own reflection in the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen. Dear God – did he dare hope?

She licked her lips, nervously so. Then, after slight hesitation, she inhaled deeply as she released his face. Her eyes sought his again, but the warmth he had seen there just seconds before had been replaced with something else. What was it? Sadness? Regret? Resignation, perhaps?

"Joseph, I…." She faltered, unable to keep his gaze. Slowly, she started again.

"I received a phone call from an old friend this morning," she said. "You know him. You met again in New York."

Immediately he tensed up again. His stomach dropped, a cold feeling spread through his entire body, literally stunning him, preventing him from speaking. Jack. He had forgotten all about the man.

Instantly there was more distance between them and her eyes narrowed as she gauged his reaction. "He's offered to come and stay with me for a while…to be with me. You see, we…we came to a sort of understanding before I left last week…"

He felt the blood draining from his face, as he struggled to keep his composure, to breathe normally. An understanding with Jack. "Oh," he simply said, waiting with a heavy heart for her to continue.

"I'm supposed to call him back in the morning."

With great difficulty he held back his spontaneous reaction to swear loudly, realizing once more that he no longer had any sort of claim on her, on her heart. It was all too clear. He was too late, easy as that. It wasn't even the reason he had come, yet he couldn't deny that he had hoped. He had always hoped. The realization that he had truly lost her destroyed his soul. Yet how could he blame her for moving on? It was what he had wanted her to do, in fact it was what he had expected her to do.

He struggled to speak, tried to find the right words. "Jack's a good man," he said in a hoarse voice, desperately trying to hide his emotions. "He can make you happy."

She smiled, nodded, but her eyes didn't seem to agree with her. They were sad, yes, but they expressed something else as well. As if she was waiting for him, almost begging him, to put an end to this conversation.

"So…" he said, taking a step backwards, almost stumbling as his disappointment and heartache overwhelmed him.

"So…" she replied, pressing her lips together.

He turned to go, his eyes never leaving hers. "I guess this is goodb…"


	14. Chapter 14

Before he could continue, her hand was lifted in mid air, as if beckoning him to stop, and she had spoken again. "Give me a reason to tell him no, Joseph…" she said, biting her bottom lip, her eyes pleading with him, desperate for a reply.

His eyes widened in response, and he gasped out loud. "Clarisse…" he said, his emotions fully evident in his voice. He started to shake, the tremor in his hands was back in full force, his knees were weakening underneath him. "My God, what are you saying…can we…"

Suddenly she couldn't take it anymore. She wasn't accustomed to begging, it shouldn't be necessary for her to do so, it never had been. This was it, this had to be it, for the very last time.

"Just give me a God damned reason!" she exclaimed, her voice broken from frustration and longing. Stunned by her own outburst, she covered her mouth with her hand, as if afraid of what she had just said. And then suddenly, finally, she found herself completely lost in his embrace. In two strides he was by her side and had swept her into his arms, breaking her gasp by brutally claiming her lips.

He was strong, demanding, she remembered this about him, and she breathed shakily under his touch, clinging to him desperately. She only embraced him more closely as she pressed her lips upon his, tighter, longing, depending, feeling the warmth of his body reach through the soft cotton robe covering hers. Touching and stroking, their hands grasped and found their way on own accord, refusing to let go. Her throat was tightening by the familiar feeling of his lips moving on hers, the dark scent that reached her nose, Joseph, her Joseph, oh how much she had missed him.

For a moment he was convinced that he was dreaming, feeling her unique softness underneath his trembling lips. One hand was on her lower back, his hand flattening so he could bring her close to his body, his stomach, his heart. The other hand was firmly between her shoulder blades, bringing her even closer in his embrace, so close that there was almost no space between them. Kissing her, he tasted tears; his desire took control over his mouth, his mind, his body. His lips moved feverishly to her cheeks, her neck, then found her lips again, drinking her saltiness away. No more tears. No more pain.

And then, suddenly, they both held still, as if completely spent by what had just happened between them. Her face was now hidden in his chest, both her arms wrapped tightly around him. He brought his face to her shoulder, burying his nose in her neck, inhaling that oh so familiar scent. One hand rested on the back of her head, one on her shoulder, bringing her closer, feeling how her body shook as she sobbed, feeling her warm tears wet his shirt. But he knew in his heart that these weren't tears from pain or despair. They were tears of regret, an outlet of relief. And he knew that he needed to hold her close. For his sake, and hers.

"Damn you Joseph," she cried, gripping into his shoulder blades, hitting his back with closed fists. "Damn you."

He didn't respond, just held onto her, letting her rant.

"Damn you for leaving me..." Her fists still collided on his back, but slower, softer, as if she was losing strength.

He held her even tighter, eager to let her know that there was no other place in this world where he'd ever wanted to be. Not then, not now, not ever.

"All these years..." she was crying softly now, steadily calming down against his chest. Her breathing became steadier, deeper, yet she didn't let go of his hold, his touch. She couldn't release him, fearing he would be gone again when she opened her eyes. Expecting to see that hint of rejection once more, the look she had learned to fear.

Stroking her hair, he breathed in her fresh scent, her shampoo, her perfume, smelling her, Clarisse. It was so perfect and so real that he couldn't control his own actions anymore. With no way to stop it, it welled up in him, it came from his heart, it tingled in his throat. No longer could he fight it. "I love you." He repeated the words, kissing her neck, her cheek, her temple, trembling on his legs.

His voice was soft, hoarse, yet very well heard. She opened her eyes, slowly, as if she was gradually waking up from a deep sleep. Blinking a few times, she pulled her head away from his chest, tilting it backwards so she could face him.

"Say it again," she whispered, seeking his eyes. "Please."

A deep sigh escaped him, he'd never seen her like this, this inviting, this warm, this unguarded. One hand came up to stroke back the loose strand of hair that fell on her temple. "I love you," he whispered. "My God, I love you with all my heart. I always have, Clarisse." His hands circled her waist again, they held her firmer against him and he felt how she eased into him.

She smiled through the very last of her tears, leaning her head forward so she came to rest against his chin. His scent, that dark, slightly dangerous scent, it enveloped her once more. Her hands slid over his arms to his shoulders, toying in the nape of his neck, stroking his sensitive skin. Goosebumps appeared where she touched him, she felt it on his skin, in the contracting of his muscles.

"Clarisse..." he whispered, biting his lip as he felt her hands sliding lower to his back, her touch light as a feather, going back and forth, up and down. When she reached the intimacy of his belt, she went up again, moving steadily, yet very lightly from side to side. His breath got caught in his throat as she slowly tilted her head backwards so he could face her. His hands held on to her, unwilling to let go. "My darling..."

"I remember you," she said in a low voice as she stroked his cheek, feeling the raspy skin under her touch.

His nod was barely visible. "I remember you too," he answered.

Their faces were only inches away from each other, and Clarisse held her breath as she stared right into his eyes. They were dark and haunted, telling her of all the hell he'd endured for all these years, too. She had not been alone in her suffering. She wanted to be the one to offer him the love, the warmth he so deserved. The warmth they both needed so much.

"Come home with me," she whispered in a sudden urge. As a cold shiver shot down her spine, she closed her eyes, almost as if she were afraid to hear his answer.

He said nothing, and when she managed to look back up into his eyes, she could plainly see that they no longer held any signs of fear, of rejection. Instead, his gaze was replaced with a warm and loving stare, a look of love and devotion that took her breath away. And slowly, he nodded.

He tried, he did, but he couldn't pull his gaze away from her face. It had been so long since he was allowed to look at her like this, full of love, full of desire and need – he relished every second in which he could look at her. Just look at her. And then, finally, when she raised her head, her eyes questioning, her lips trembling and seeking, he lowered his mouth to hers. He brushed against her lips, back and forth, coaxing, inviting.

His lips were soft and tentatively searching, as if he wasn't sure he should be doing this, taking her down this path of his greatest desire. It was as if all of the control he possessed had suddenly left him. Her hands came up, trembling, closing around the back of his head, his neck, bringing him closer to her, encouraging him.

Feeling his knees buckle underneath under him, he let out a shuddering breath against her lips. He'd never known a woman so tempting, so seductive, so beautiful, or a woman he wanted to both possess and surrender to more.

Suddenly he settled his mouth over hers, responding to her unspoken question. She met him halfway, timidly at first, then moving towards him with a passion that was all her own. She could hear his groan low in his throat, and it aroused her, excited her. Then, before she knew it, his tongue had forced her lips to open, and he took control over her completely, making her gasp at his boldness.

His hands graced over her back, drawing shapes, feeling her shiver underneath his touch. He had no idea he would ever feel like this again, the love he felt for her was overwhelming, but his want for her took control over his body as their kisses became more urgent.

"Clarisse," he panted, cupping the sides of her face, slowly attempting to end the kiss.

She refused to let go, pressing herself more firmly against him, kissing him with such passion that it made him tremble. He could only respond to her need, meeting her mouth once more, his hands roaming over her back, her neck, her head, sliding downwards to her hips and thighs.

He felt so good, so right, pressed firmly against her, tasting her deeply. If this already felt like perfection, she almost was afraid to know what it would feel like to have him even closer to her, sharing the most intimate connection. What would it feel like, making love to this man who was able to weaken her knees with just a single touch from his lips? It had been so long since she had shared herself in such a way, and the need she thought she had buried was suddenly forcing itself to the surface.

"Clarisse," he tried again, the desperation in his voice clear. "Stop me now or I know I won't be able to control myself…" His thumb stroked her swollen lips and he let out a shuddering breath when she softly bit it.

She forgot where they were, that it was in the middle of the night, that there were guards outside who knew that their former boss had gone to look for her. She forgot about her position, forgot about their past, the reason she had come here. All she felt was the insatiable hunger that shot through her body like a fire; bold, warming her stomach, burning away her safely guarded decorum.

"Joseph…" she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest as her eyes sought his. They were dark, drenched from desire and need, oh she could look in those eyes forever. "Don't stop. Not anymore. Not ever."

Her words shook him to his core; it was all he had ever wanted to hear, all that he had dreamed of. The desire he could see so clearly in her eyes he knew all too well, it was matched in equal measure by his own. As he felt her lips against his again he knew that there was no way back. He moved forward from the threshold, slowly, coaxing her to turn, forcing her to step backwards, never leaving her lips unattended. Then, as she stumbled against the wall, he tilted his head, settling his lips over her mouth once more. One of his legs slid between her knees and his hand moved downwards from her shoulder to her side, stroking her hip, then teasingly squeezing her thigh.

Gripping his collar with both hands, she moaned softly into his mouth. As if someone was controlling her with invisible chords, she lifted her leg against his hip, allowing him to pull it higher and closer to his body with a strength that made her head spin. Her robe fell away from her leg and his hand made contact with her bare skin, first stroking, then massaging, a sensation so enticing that she gasped for air.

His clothes felt damp, but the heat from his body was overwhelming, she moved her hands from his collar further downwards, sliding under his coat to caress his strong shoulders, his firm back, following the pattern of his muscles through his shirt. Then, she reached his sides, her fingers clutching and grasping, sliding even lower, going backwards, feeling how his muscles contracted when she squeezed the back of his upper legs. She wasn't thinking, only feeling, drowning in the sweet and strong taste of his mouth, relishing his touch, his hands, his face so close to her. He was back, Joseph, her need, her desire, her love. It was all back.

He was out of control, he knew it, his breathing was unsteady. He was panting, his muscles contracting on their own wherever she touched him. Her touch was sweet torture. Grasping each of her hands with his, he lifted her arms above her head as he pinned her against the wall. He leaned against her with his full weight, wanting her to feel just how much he desired her, how much he needed her. Her eyes were open, yet dazed, her gaze directed at his mouth. Slowly he lowered his head just so his lips could kiss her neck once more, but this time he went lower, releasing her arms so they fell around his shoulders, tracing her collarbone with his tongue, sliding downwards, teasing her, tasting her, making her moan deeply.

The jolt of passion that shot through her was all that was needed for her to start tugging on his jacket, impatiently, frustrated when the fabric didn't seem to agree with her. He helped her with her quest, shrugging out of his coat, dropping it carelessly to the floor.

"Joseph," she panted, wasting no more time, tugging his shirt up, finding bare skin underneath. Her hands couldn't move fast enough, welcoming his warmth, yet leaving a trace of goosebumps on his skin. "Joseph…"

As if he was waiting to hear her voice, his knee slid away from in between her legs, moving smoothly to the side of her, bending her knees. Then, as her legs buckled underneath her, he moved his arm around her, picking her up as if she was as light as a feather.

She thought he would move her to the bedroom but they didn't get that far. It took him only a few strides to reach the soft couch in the center of the room where he put her down, flat on her back on the soft cushions, her robe sliding upwards.

Her hands fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, tugging them free, exposing his chest, his muscles, letting her fingers trace his flat stomach. She was breathless, speechless, as he lowered his head to caress her chest once more, moving down, his hand undoing the knot of her robe. He moved quickly, half on top of her and half next to her as he freed her of her clothes, taking control over her, groaning deeply.

-----

Outside in the gatehouse, Shades gazed outside.

"Your turn," his colleague stated lazily, staring at the almost empty chess board in between them.

"Right," Shades said, glancing at the mansion again. Vague shadows that had been visible in the windows behind the curtains just moments before had moved lower, and then disappeared from view. He straightened up, narrowing his eyes. When they didn't reappear, he relaxed.

"What?" Did it start raining again?" Adam asked, frowning at his boss.

Shades returned his gaze to the younger man, a small, knowing smile gracing his lips. "Never mind," he said. He forced his attention towards the board, ignoring the movements nearby. He picked up a piece from the chess board. "Check."

-----

He groaned in frustration at the eager tugging of her hand, she was fiddling with his belt, his buttons, pulling his shirt away from his body. He hadn't felt this way in so long, this insatiable need to explore every inch of a woman's body, Clarisse's body, the body he had been thinking of in his cold, lonely nights. He had built an image in his head, this mind blowing image of perfect softness, round curves, with a smell unlike any other. Somehow he had known all along that whatever he had pictured she would be like, it would be nothing in comparison to this glorious, deeply erotic reality.

Her skin was soft, smooth and pink as roses, yet tiny little freckles gave away that every once in a while, she couldn't resist to let the sunlight kiss her. Her smell blew him away, that fresh smell; sweet lavender, fresh lilies, roses, soap, cream, all blended with the natural scent that only Clarisse possessed, that smell that he would recognize anywhere, anytime. A sweet, enticing scent that was locked in his nose and his heart forever more. Her round curves seemed to invite him to trace them, first with his lips, then with his tongue, slowly, teasing, going up, down, back, forth, moving from side to side. And yet, although he wanted to take it slowly, as much as he wanted to make this moment last, he could not. There was this uncontrollable need to take care of, as if he was starving and needed to quench his maddening thirst as soon as possible.

He lowered his head, tasting her, bathing in her warmth. She was whimpering underneath him, he heard it, and it spurred him on even more, letting his hands trail over her body, possessive, claiming her as his.

She responded to his caresses, pushing her body up from the soft embrace of the couch, sliding her hands over his strong arms, taking him with her when she sank back into the soft cushions. Letting her hands run free, she moved downwards, finding his belt again, this time tracing it to get to the buckle at the front, tugging it impatiently. His weight on her on the small couch made it impossible for her to move freely and she groaned, almost losing sight of her goal when his lips found places that had been abandoned for far too long.

"Joseph," she moaned, "I need to, let me…"

She tried once more to free him of his belt, pressing her lips together in frustration when she couldn't reach it. Suddenly she lost all reserve as she swore softly under her breath, she needed more room. Her voice was soft, yet impatient. "Joseph…the floor, darling,…please…"

Hearing her demands, another jolt of desire shot through his body but he shook his head lightly."Not here," he panted, placing his hands next to her head, staring down at her. Lowering his head, he placed his lips on top of hers. He tasted her deeply once more before he pulled away from her. With his thumb, he stroked her lips, spreading the moistness his kiss had left behind. "You deserve more comfort than this."

"Bedroom…?" she sighed against his lips, tilting her head to invite him inside her mouth again. She moaned deeply as his lips moved from her mouth to her neck. She had no idea that it could be like this, so thrilling, so daring, so full of heat. She even had no idea that she could be like this, surrendering completely to his hands, his mouth, his tongue, begging him to give her more.

"Bedroom," he said in a low voice, suddenly pulling away from her. He got up from the couch in a fast movement, feeling dizzy, smiling down at her. Then he extended both hands, accepting hers, helping her to stand on her feet.

She staggered, had difficulty standing, her legs were weak from his caresses, her knees simply refusing to carry her weight. Leaning against him, she looked right into his eyes, feeling his hands trail freely over her body, her hips, her thighs and this time as her hands slid down toward his belt, there was no obstacle in her way.

Their faces were only inches away from each other and he felt her breath on his face as she finally freed his belt, opening his pants with no effort at all. Her mouth was closed as she held on to his gaze. Gone was the fear, the pain, the tears…now her eyes were dark, loaded with desire, with deep rooted passion and need.  
God, he'd never seen her like this, this determined to get what she wanted. He'd dreamed of this, imagined their joining, but the look on her face destroyed any imagine he might have had before. His want for her made another jump, it was unbearable now.

"Clarisse," he groaned as he felt his zipper fall away. "Oh dear God." His breath faltered at the touch of her hand as he stepped out of his pants, kicking it away with an impatience that was mirrored in her eyes. He pulled her tight against him, kissing her with an urgency that took them both by surprise.

"Joseph," she whispered against his lips, running her tongue over his lips, then sweeping it lightly in his mouth. Her eyes pierced into his, a longing gaze. "I love you. Let's not waste any more time."

And that was it. He couldn't wait any longer to completely possess her body, to bring her along with him on this journey they had never before been allowed to take. In one brisk movement he swept her off her feet, carrying her to the bedroom where he would finally be able to show her what he had been dreaming of since the first day he saw her. It would be a continuation of what once had started, this time he wouldn't have to end it, but bring it to perfection. He would treasure her, bring back her faith, and in that respect it was the beginning of something new.

Together they would learn to trust again.

-----

Shades grinned to himself as he gazed outside once more, staring at the main house. He watched as the shadowy figures reappeared and moved from one room to another.

"Do it," his colleague urged with a frown.

And as the light in the mansion dimmed, leaving nothing but loaded darkness, Shades nodded with a smile as he picked up his Queen from the chess board, making his final move.

"Checkmate."

-----

_His hand was drifting, roaming dangerously close to the edge of the silky fabric, and tracing her neckline. Teasing, soft fingers inched underneath the garment, sliding lower still and she sighed deeply, arching towards the touch. She knew she should stop him, but her mouth was dry as sandpaper, her body pressing back against his on its own accord._

"_They are waiting for me." _

_It should have made him pull back but she heard herself how she sounded, breathless and intoxicated by his scent, by his touch. He took no notice, breathing softly in her ear as he brought his mouth down to her bare shoulder, humming appreciatively at the very inviting cut of her dress. His stubble grazed her skin and she shivered. _

"_I really have to.." She paused mid-sentence and bit her lip, her eyes drifting shut as his hand inched lower. It was with great effort she snapped her eyes open and straightened up, away from him. "…go."_

"_Then go."_

_His voice wasn't angry, not even a trace of disappointment in his voice and she turned around, smiling at him. She could hear voices drifting towards her from the other side and she instantly knew they were waiting for her, and that she had no other choice than to go._

_She didn't even look back, her feet moving of their own accord, a seemingly invisible force drawing her towards the dark, wooden door. She reached a hand out, hearing the unmistakable clicking of the handle pressing down echoing in the candle lit room._

_As the door swung open and she stepped out, she was overwhelmed by the compact mass of people standing before her, her senses unable to take in the bright light blinding her eyes and the loud noise in her ears. But the warm hand in the small of her back comforted her, offered __her guidance, as she made her entrance to the annual Winter Ball. She__ glanced aside and smiled. _

_Joseph. _

**The End.**

_Janet and Martina, over and out_ xxx


End file.
